Darkness Falls
by Marikosan-7
Summary: Logan and Ororo decide to have a romantic, relaxing break in the Scottish Highlands, but little do they know what awaits them there...RoLo
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-Men characters in this story. But the village of Glen Branloch is mine I tell you!

A/N: I'm a major, MAJOR horror fan, from vampires to zombies and everything in between. So it was only a matter of time before I got around to writing a RoLo horror fic. I have to say, vampires are my absolute favourites of all the possible ghouls and one of the best comicverse storylines Storm has ever had (in my opinion) is the Blood-Storm/ Dracula one. I just couldn't resist putting my fave' couple into the mix with a few evil blood-suckers!

This story was originally posted on the RoLo Realm a few years ago and with some minor adjustments I have finally decided to post it here as well to get me back into the swing of things after rather a large break from the fan-fic world. I'm hoping it will inspire me to create fresh work!!

Anyway read on and enjoy! (insert grotesquely over-exaggerated hammy horror laugh here [ ...] Lol!) M'ikosan7, xx.

Marvel Universe: Movie

Rating: M

'Darkness Falls'

I'll protect you from the hooded claw,  
Keep the vampires from your door...

'The Power of Love' by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

A stroke of luck,  
Or a gift from God?  
The hand of fate,  
Or the devils claws?  
From below or saints above,  
You come to me.

'A Stroke of Luck' by Garbage.

* * *

Close to Mt. An Teallach, north of Loch Maree, the Scottish Highlands...

Ororo's eyes fell shut slowly as she heaved in another breath. It burned...it burned so much that she couldn't concentrate on anything but its painful insistence, calling her, beckoning her...She wondered how much longer she could hold out as she slouched back against the wall with the thin paper and the hard coarse brick beneath. The chill of it came through to press on her skin and for a moment it struck her as strange that she should notice that. She never felt the cold, she could make certain that she never felt the damn cold so why was she noticing it now? The distraction was unfortunately brief though as another wave of fire ran through her, this time making her scream out and lurch forwards, clutching at the cloth of her vest top over her stomach. She landed almost face down but her left arm flailed out just in time to stop her; smacking against the bare floorboards loudly, her palm laid flat. A soft whimpering noise escaped her lips and she was forced to purse them shut to stop it from happening again. Her whole body trembled in effort. Somewhere far off she became aware of the heavy stomping of feet. The noise was coming from outside the room but it was rapidly getting louder and coming in her direction. She forced herself to look up in the direction of the door; her disarrayed white locks falling down in front of her face so that she viewed the old-fashioned wooden door intermittently through a white veil.

Her breathing became increasingly harsh as she watched the door; it's ocean noise swelling her ears, consuming her senses as she waited and watched. The sound even managed to drown out the thumping feet coming towards her, taking the fast heavy bangs into the background, ushering them far, far away from her. Letting her head lull back down, Ororo rested her forehead on the ground; half on the wood of the floor boards, half on the floral rug that stretched out just in front of her. Then the pain came again in a rushing flood and she gritted her teeth and wrapped both arms around her stomach like she had cramps; her body completely rigid with contained tension. A sound uttered from her mouth again of its own volition, this time less a whimper more a growl. A growl of pain and frustration....and want. Suddenly the door of the dark bedroom flung open, clattering noisily against the tall, antique wardrobe that stood grandly behind it. She didn't bother to look up, she was barely aware that it had happened at all...

"'Ro!" Logan cleared the room in two bounds to get over to her side. Crouching down, he laid his hands on her shoulders and coaxed her back up to a sitting position, leaning her against the wall once more. Her coffee skin glistened with sweat, but it was clearly of a feverish origin as she shivered every so often and each in take of air seemed laboured. "You alright?" He asked automatically as he pressed his palm to her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way to check her temperature. She was burning up, but the intensity of her body heat seemed even more acute to his sensitive touch.

"Yes." She muttered with dry lips, her eyes firmly closed and then, with a weak shake she retracted, "No...no." Her forehead creased down as the fire came again, flowing through every vain, coursing in her thumping heart like lava.

"You've just gotta hang on fer me darlin'," He looked around anxiously, quickly scanning for something, anything that he could bar the door with to keep her safely in here. The last thing he wanted was to have to leave her on her own again but he had no choice if they wanted to make it out of here alive. Flicking his gaze back down to her, he promised, "I'll get us out of here," He took her face into his cupped palm, he gently lifted her head up, encouraging her, with great effort, to peel her dark eyes open, "I swear it. Just....just hold on, okay?"

Ororo nodded meekly and tried to smile; the briefest glimmer fleeting on her lips. But her mind began to cloud and she'd just become aware of a vicious throbbing in her mouth. She tongued at the roof of the orifice, touching the hard flesh plate lightly. But she quickly withdrew from it when its tenderness caused her yet more discomfort. This couldn't be happening, she thought to herself in a brief flash of clarity, this can not be happening...

Logan moved off and quickly rummaged around the room, looking for an object to block the door with. There was a lock on it but it would be easily forced with even the merest insistence. No, he had to blockade it and blockade it good. There was only one thing for it. Making his way over to the medium sized window, hoping over the bed to get there, he opened up its lead latticed frame and poked his head out into the still night. They were only on the first floor of the stone, white-washed cottage so the drop to the ground below wasn't that much. Seventeen to eighteen foot at most he estimated quickly. He looked to the left and there was a black plastic drainpipe bolted firmly to the old wall. Reaching out he gripped it and gave it a quick shake to check how safe it was. If he was going to use it to get back into the room later he had to be sure that it could take his weight. All that adamantium was fucking heavy. But it seemed sturdy enough and at this particular moment in time there were precious few other options open to him.

Pulling back into the room, Logan jumped over the double bed again to get back to the door. Going around the other side of the large wardrobe he began to push it in front of the only other access to the room. It was heavy as hell and took all his effort to get it to budge. At first it didn't move at all as he strained against it, his face red and contorted with the effort. But after a moment the great dark hulk started to shift, groaning with a baritone deepness as it scrapped across the floor.

"Ggggrrrrrr-ah!" With one last forceful push, he had the huge wardrobe in front of the door; not letting the nagging feeling that it probably wouldn't do much good to keep them out. But he had to at least do something. "Right, that should hold---I don't want you to move until I get back. I'll be as quick as---." His words were lost when he looked back down at his girlfriend. She was fairly panting now and the clear beads poured from her face and down her chest making her hair stick to her skin like wet straw. "Darlin'! You've gotta fight it!" He urged her as he came back down to her side. Reaching up he carefully tilted her head over to the right. Picking up a clump of white that clung possessively to her neck he growled to himself as his eyes fell upon the two dark welts that looked like round black eyes staring mercilessly back out at him. They looked like they'd gotten bigger since the last time he'd checked her but maybe that was just the spread of the ugly bruising around them or perhaps they'd bled a little again.

Her panting slowly morphed into quick sharp gasps through her parted lips. She found that it was no longer possible to keep her mouth shut, it hurt too much; a searing sting had replaced the dull ache. "Logan I can't...I..." Her eyes opened wide with a silent pleading as she looked up at him, searching his face for an answer as to what was happening to her. But all she saw was him trying to hold back his own confusion and perhaps terror.

"'Ro? 'RO?!" Logan gripped firmly at her attempting to bring her to him but he couldn't. It was like she was resisting, arching away from him.

His cries fell on deaf ears as her mind turned into a dense fog of physical sensations. For a moment through her horror she had chance to wonder if this was what it was like for Logan, to be able to hear, feel, smell, taste and see everything all at once, her senses were becoming overwhelmed. But there was one thing that cut through it all. The never ending drumming; the bud-doom, bud-doom, bud-doom of a beating heart. But she quickly realised that it wasn't her heart she was hearing although hers was pounding like a jackhammer too. But no, it was Logan's she could hear, Logan's that filled her ears and stoked what she now knew was her hunger...

A metalic essence filled her mouth as she ran her tongue upwards again. But the pain was no longer there, something else was instead. Her fleshy muscle snagged on a sharp point to the right of her mouth as she ran it along her top teeth. The taste of the meagre trickle of blood from it hit her like nothing else ever before. Without warning she began to thrash from side to side in his grip; trying desperately to pull out of it because she couldn't control this thing inside of her any longer. But he held her fast.

Falling down to the side Ororo splayed out flat on the floor with Logan above her, pinning her down at the shoulders as best he could, trying to stop her from writhing wildly, the sound of her screams piercing in his ears. Then, for no apparent reason, she ceased to move, ceased to cry out. Her legs stopped kicking against the floor, she had stopped shaking her head from side to side and her eyes had fallen shut.

Logan fought to get his breath back as he left his hands where they were, not wanting to take them away until he was absolutely sure she wouldn't freak out again. "What the fucks going on?" He whispered angrily to himself despite the fact that he knew exactly what was going on. He knew it... he just refused to believe it. Tentatively he began to pull back, kneeling with his legs at either side of her body. He was fairly certain that she'd passed out and perhaps that was the best thing for her right now. He sat there for a moment in absent thought, simply gazing down at her still form as he ran a hand over the bristly bottom half of his face and then rested it over his mouth. The thought of leaving her alone in this state was even more daunting now than it was before. One weekend, one fucking weekend to themselves, in peace. That was all they'd wanted. Was that really too much to ask without something totally insane happening?

She stirred slightly with a quiet moan, making her head fall to the side and revealing the marks on her neck again. But they were not what caught his attention this time as the moon flittered in one long shaft through the still open window onto the two figures. The blue light made something in her mouth glint. Hesitantly, Logan reached down and with one finger, he lifted up her lip on the left hand side. "Jesus fucking H Christ." He ground out slowly as his eyes descried one unusually sharp canine poking down further than the rest of her perfectly white teeth; the top of that particular on was a little pinkish though, as if it had just pushed through the gum. Which, unless he'd been dating her with his eyes closed for the past eight months, it certainly had. He was so dazed by this latest development that he didn't notice her eyes flickering or the tips of her fingers twitching ever-so-slightly.

It happened in an absolute flash, as swift as lightening...

"FUCK!" Was all he had time to shout in angry surprise as she sprung up from the floor and clamped her mouth around the left side of his neck. The jolt sent him flying backward, crashing onto the rug so that she was now astride him. He tried with all his strength to lever her off his body as he felt four sharp pains in the flesh of his neck and the warm trickle of blood spilling down his skin, dripping thickly down behind his ear. With a neat *zing* all six razor sharp claws popped out from between roughened knuckles in reflex reaction, glinting in the cold clear light of the lunar orb. But there was no way, even for a split second that he considered using them against her, though nor could he will them back into their housings. Instead Logan continued to struggle against her, gasping at her arms tightly and trying to pry her off but it was like she'd suddenly gained the strength of twenty men as she gripped at his hair powerfully and drank from him greedily.

The last thing he was aware of was her snarls of blood-lust filled ecstasy and the moist heat of her mouth as a darkness descended over him, at first splitting and blurring his vision before blotting out Ororo and the world around...

* * *

Two days ago in Westchester, New York State. Friday, 9.15am...

"Scotland?!" Jean repeated again, a bemused look on her face.

"Yes, Scotland." Ororo said cordially, laughing slightly that Jean found the idea of Logan and her taking a romantic break in Scotland so funny and peculiar. She put her bag into the back of her red Suzuki jeep; she'd managed to get all the necessaries into just two bags, which was a personal best, she had to admit.

The red-head leant back against the wall of the spacious garage, her arms folded over her chest, still smiling. "Whose idea was it?"

"Mine." She insisted and shook her head playfully at the look on her best friends face.

"What made you decide to go there?" She asked almost incredulous as she walked around to the other side of the jeep where Ororo was standing, checking the glove compartment for their passports and such. It was the fourth time in the space of thirty minutes. "I mean," Jean continued jovially, "If I was going to get Scott to take me anywhere I'd suggest..." Her eyes found the high ceiling as she racked her brains for some of the most exotic and romantic places she could think of, "...Honolulu, Rome, or...I don't know. But Scotland?---it'll be freezing this time of year!" She mimicked a shiver, rippling her body and rubbing her bare arms vigorously.

Ororo sucked in the side of her cheek and tilted her head to side to face Jean; her elegantly shaped eyebrow arched in such a manner as to say 'Are you stupid?'.

"Oh yeah," Jean said sheepishly, "Mistress of the Weather and all that."

Storm shook her head and laughed lightly from a closed mouth as she climbed into the jeep on the passenger side; pulling the door closed with a soft slam before buckling up. "Well my idea of a romantic break and yours are clearly very different Jean." She smiled almost to herself, "And besides, can you really see Logan sunning himself on a tropical white sandy beach or admiring the architecture and art of a Roman piazza?" At that both woman began to laugh; the joyful sound echoing in the cavity of the garage that sat beneath the west wing of the mansion.

"Was that a private joke or can anyone hear it?"

They both turned to the door as Logan came in, ever-present cigar in his mouth, accompanied by the Professor, with Scott walking just behind his chair. Looking at the three of them suppressed giggles creasing their mouths into awkward smiles, they couldn't hold it in as they turned to face each other again; erupting in shrill peels. Scott and Logan both shook their heads in pretend dismay; the unknowing similarity and timing of their respective actions prolonging the women's hysterics that little bit longer.

After they'd calmed down Jean went round to stand with Scott, giving him a light peck on the cheek and then resting comfortably on his shoulder as they watched Logan throw his bag carelessly in the back before climbing into the jeep. Ororo handed him the keys and quickly he revved her up.

"What time is your flight?" Charles asked, directing the question at both of them.

Logan looked at the digital clock on the radio, estimating the leaving time of the flight and discounting the check-in deadline. "About two and half hours."

"Eleven forty-five." Ororo clarified, leaning forwards to address the Professor from around the other side of Logan.

"Get in touch when you arrive at the cottage."

"Of course." She said, giving Xavier an affectionate smile. "We should get into Glasgow airport at eight o'clock our time, so it should be about one am over there. Moira's arranged for a car to pick us up and take us to the cottage from the airport. It shouldn't take more than two hours to get to Glen Branloch from there."

"Good, good." He assured them with an absent nod. It was nice of him to have put the pair in touch with his old colleague Dr. Moira MacTaggart when he'd heard they were planning a trip to the rugged country side of the north of Britain. He was still on affable terms with her, despite the divorce. But that was just the type of person Professor Charles Xavier was; he could never bear anyone ill-will. It wasn't in him to do so.

"Enjoy the trip." Scott offered; a genuinely felt sentiment to Logan as well as his oldest friend bar Jean. "Safe journey."

Logan nodded and Ororo gave her thanks. Then the three of them waved their colleagues and team mates off after the final goodbyes, watching the jeep tear down the drive until it disappeared through the gothic iron gates that opened automatically on their high speed approach and out onto the road under a greying overcast sky.

"So, when are you going to take me on a romantic week-end huh?" Jean asked teasingly as they went back into the house, making Charles laugh quietly at his team-leaders hesitant umm-ing and ahh-ing, bereft of an appeasing answer for his fiancée.

* * *

It was a little after three when they arrived at the remote cottage, three miles outside of the small village of Glen Branloch, nestled in the shadow of Mt. An Teallach. But at present neither the mountain or any of the stunning surrounding countryside could be seen in the pitch black of the early hours of the morning. The flight over had been smooth and utterly uneventful apart from Ororo's insistence on Logan divulging to her the secret of how he'd gotten through airport security without any of the metal detectors crying bloody murder. But he'd remained stubbornly 'schtum' on whatever it was the Professor had given him to enable him to travel via traditional means without being hauled over the coals by misguided authorities. When they'd arrived at Glasgow they'd both been rather surprised when they clapped eyes on the vintage Rolls Royce that Dr. MacTaggart had sent to take them to their destination. It was incredibly comfortable too; both of them almost falling asleep in the back as they travelled in style.

Gradually the driver pulled the car up to the front of the cottage; bringing the large car to a slow stop on the patch of gravel that covered an oblong area by the door. It was deathly silent outside and the only thing that could be seen was the white washed traditional abode, with its winter pansy (blue, purple and golden yellow) window boxes, lead-latticed five front windows and dark thatched roof with stone chimney stacks at either end. The whole thing was lit by two electric security lights attached either side of the thick wooden door, crossed with old iron brackets, with an old-fashioned round handled latch to admit entry. Above it was an irregular chunk of thick weathered wood, attached to the wall with two thick, rusted nails. On it was inscribed, carved rather crudely the date '1596. AD'.

After getting the bags out of the trunk for them the driver, Dougie, bid them adieu. "If there's any problems yae've got a phone in there, though the lines can be a wee bit temperamental out here." He laid the last bag down by the door and pushed his cap back on his head slightly as he straightened up. "I'll be back ta collect yae first thing Monday morn'; nine sharp."

"Thank-you Dougie."

"Aye." The robust Scotsman replied, 'dothing' his stiff black cap genially at Ororo. "Everythin' yae need's down that road," he turned, pointing to a path that was currently cloaked in darkness, "The village's got all yae necessities; newsagents, food shop, gift shop," He looked over at Logan, "Pub." He gave a knowing smile and had it returned by an unusually relaxed if somewhat sleepy and jet-lagged Wolverine. Heightened senses where hell when it came to such a massive displacement of self. He felt like he'd left his brain in last Friday, but the healing factor would soon compensate for that.

Ororo shook her head as she reached into her pocket and took out the key she'd been sent earlier in the week and let herself in, taking up one of her bags whilst Logan picked up the other two. Once inside they heard the car pulling away, dragging off into the distance until the air was quiet as a mouse once more, leaving the pair in absolute and grateful solitude.

Logan reached up to the side of the door, turning he light-switch, which was of the dimmer sort; it was control by a twisting knob, letting the light from its bulb slowly as not to startle the eyes. They found them selves in a low-ceiling living room with beautifully crafted wooden furniture, a large old hearth and the original flagstone flooring still in tact. It was dark but cosy and smelt of gorgeously fresh lavender and heather, dried sprigs of which were attached to the thick wooden beams that ran along the ceiling along with ornamental horseshoes and assorted brass figures. The stair case was steep and narrow; a free standing structure that sat towards the back of the fairly spacious room. It was constructed of the same almost black wood that formed the beams and support posts that dotted the room in four strategic places.

"Wow." Ororo whispered, slightly aghast at the rustic charm of the place. It was more beautiful than she could have imagined. The pictures she'd been sent simply didn't do the cottage justice.

"Nice." Logan said with a little sniff of indifference, using the same clipped tone that every man uses when he has to profess his admiration for something; macho and begrudging of the sentiment. He placed all three of their cases into the corner of the room whilst Ororo wondered around, checking all the nooks and crannies, casting a leisurely eye over the several original watercolour landscapes that hung about the room on the walls that where painted the same as the outer ones.

"It's gorgeous." She said finally as she turned to face her lover, a beaming smile lighting her up like a Christmas tree.

Logan sauntered over to her with a lopsided grin, enveloping her in his arms. "You're gorgeous." He growled playfully as he pulled her close to him in his loving embrace and kissed her on the end of her button nose. The gesture caused her to giggle like a school girl as she snuggled up to him, closing her eyes and burying her face in his chest. The scent of burnt leaves and dusky smoke urging her to press to him closer, making her sigh with pleasure. Similarly he found comfort in her familiar Sandalwood aroma, its habitual presence putting to rest his natural animal caginess of being in a new place with new scents. His rational side reacted to unfamiliar environments like any person would, with logic. But the instinctual, wilder side viewed them with constant suspicion. Fortunately, the scent of his 'mate' in close proximity quieted those primal animal doubts quickly.

"We should check out the rest of the place." Her voice was soft and rendered muffled against the surface of his red and black plaid shirt and leather jacket. She tilted her face up to him and kissed him gently, her eyes drifting closed to savour it.

"Yeah, maybe in the mornin' beautiful." He said as he pulled back. "But there's only one room I wanna check out right now."

"Oh yes?" Her eyebrow arched knowingly as all he gave her in return was a wickedly dirty smile. "You're right of course," She began earnestly, struggling to keep a straight face. "We really should sleep off this jet-lag."

Logan made a disgruntled noise and then leant in quickly, place his lips a hairs breadth away from hers, but resisting the touch, for now. "Who said anything about sleepin'?" He whispered with unusual dulcetness, making her insides quiver with anticipation. "Maybe we should just work it off."

She smiled up at him, a glimmer of mischievousness in those big brown eyes, but not enough to drown out their pretended innocence. Ororo knew exactly what it did to him when she played coy and rest assured she played it for all it was worth at times. "Whatever do you mean Mr. Wolverine?" She said in a sing-song voice, batting her long dark eyelashes exaggeratedly just for extra effect as she cocked her to the side.

"Get up those stairs." He growled in mock threat and then releasing her from his tight embrace he physically turned her around and swatted her arse to set her on her way.

With a joyfully surprised yelp Ororo ran for the stairs, pounding up them with thunderous noise as Logan started after her with a lusty snarl. She somehow managed to scream and laugh all at once as he chased her. The perfect start to what they were both sure was going to well deserved and relaxing break from the Institute and the X-Men.

-To Be Continued-


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter.2.

Arms and legs pulled as tense as they could go as Ororo stretched out on the king sized bed, resisting the urge to open her eyes for that little bit longer. The soft cream sheets where gloriously warm against her naked body and the mattress was surprisingly comfortable considering it was obviously quite old. Its only determent was that it squeaked---horrendously. Not that either her or Logan really cared that much about that last night whilst they'd...'worked off' their jet-lag. And the contented sleep that had given her, made her feel extremely refreshed and bright for the day ahead. Whilst she lay there she noticed the remarkable difference from last night in terms of the noise coming in through the wide open window. But it was odd; the silence was still complete and tranquil but the songs of birds and buzzing of insects seemed to float above it, riding its wave. It was a surprisingly mild for an early-April day in the Scottish highlands.

Stretching out again so that her slender back concaved on itself in a graceful arch, she yawned, suddenly taking in scents that where coming from downstairs; the smell of food. Quite delicious food aromas in fact, that were drifting up from the kitchen. It was more than enough incentive for her to leap out of bed, snatching up Logan's plaid shirt that had been carelessly thrown aside in the early hours of the morning, landing precariously over the bedside lamp. Slipping quickly into its soft, thick material, enveloped in the warm scent of spent cigar smoke, Ororo padded quickly downstairs to see what he was up to.

The kitchen was an absolute mess with dirty pots and pans on its clear glossed wooden counters and thoughtlessly ripped, empty packets on the central pine table as well as the sideboards. Ororo picked one of the plastic packets up absently as she walked further into the room, turning it over in her hands. Idly she wished she'd put her slippers on as the flooring, which was constructed of the same square slabs of steely grey stone that adorned the living room, was extremely cold on the souls of her feet. But then she soon put it right; the minimum of concentration needed merely to regulate her body temperature, raising it just enough so that more blood ran down to the feet in order to warm them by a degree or two. Placing the used oat packet back down, she turned her attention to the huge black stove that was tucked into an alcove to the right of the table, on the wall that ran opposite the window and sink unit. It was a massive iron contraption, the type that had a funnel at the top, running up into a flume and had a wood burning fire set in its bottom to heat it. A wicker basket stood at its side, full to the brim with dried logs and the odd twig for kindling. The small thick door stood half open and orange glowing embers nestled in the bottom of its oven, indicating that it had been used very recently; the heat that poured from it as Ororo neared it being quite stifling just within its proximity.

"Out here 'Ro." Logan's voice startled her slightly, her hand coming to her chest like a reflex as her head whipped in its approximate direction. It sounded as if it were coming from the back of the house. So quickly she made her way back into the living room, which she'd had to go through to get to the kitchen. She smiled as she saw Logan through the windows at the other side of the stairs. He held his hand up and waved it towards him, beckoning her out into the back garden.

#This is going to be a treat!#, she thought to herself as she padded over to the small arched doorway next to the window which led into a beautifully decorated dinning room. There was a heavy wooden door at the end of the terracotta space which was wide open, letting in copious amounts of bright natural light, indicating it was the opening which led out onto the garden. With the loose and long arms of her lover's shirt flapping about the ends of her engulfed hands, Ororo swiftly made her way outside.

It was a glorious sight that greeted the weather Goddess in more ways than one. There was nothing more pleasing than to see ones man having laid out a sumptuous feast for breakfast but even more so when it was against the stunning backdrop of towering lush green hills and clear blue skies. The Kestrels were still calling and somewhere in the distance a river rushed furiously as Ororo sashayed over to Logan, willingly giving herself to his open arms. He wrapped them around her possessively, his hands finding purchase on her hip and the small of her back. Not a word was uttered as he leant in and took her lips, gently cajoling her lips apart to slip his tongue beyond their beautifully rounded barriers. She sighed with pleasure against him; the sleeves of 'her' shirt falling down her arms as she reached up and cupped his strong, rough jaw line. The stiff hair of his stubble and lamb-chops tickled at her fingers as she pulled him in closer, delving her tongue with as much want as he. But when their pelvises came into contact with the unbridled deepening of the kiss, the feel of him pressing against her urged her to pull back. He groaned in jest as she took her lips from his, attempting, in vain, to bring her back in.

With her nimble hands sliding like silk around to the nape of his neck she turned her head to the side to look down at the round garden table that was laden with much more food than either of them would be able to consume within one sitting. Though she wasn't about to gripe at the fact. It wasn't everyday Logan got busy in the kitchen; this was an event as rare as the passing of Hailey's Comet and she'd be damned if she was going to pass it up. Wolverine wasn't exactly the type of male that could be described as a...New Man.

"Looks tasty." She said, running her eyes over the plates and dishes all set out and brimming.

"Not as tasty as somethin' else 'round here." He whispered huskily against her cheek before laying his lips on her once more and working his way back down to her mouth, with soft, reverent pecks that made delicate smacking sounds against her fragrant skin. But with a laugh she pulled away again, hitting him lightly in amusement. Going over to the table she took up the closest chair to her and dragged it forwards, tucking her long shapely legs under the table.

"Food first." She looked up at him with a sly smile before drawing a bowl of hot oats and fruit towards her and plucking a gleaming spoon from the tray that sat in the centre. "Did you go into the village?"

"Nope." Logan said quickly as he scooted around to the chair beside her, leaning in to brush a quick kiss on her cheek as he went by. "They'd put a few things in the kitchen fer us." He snatched up a piece of toast and devoured at least half in one mouthful, crunching on the warm, crisp bread noisily.

"Is there much left?"

He shook his head and swallowed the mouthful. "No---we'll have ta go down into the village later." Licking off some butter and crumbs from his thumb, he reached over and picked up a large clear glass jug of pure orange juice; pouring Ororo a tumbler full and then doing the same for himself.

"No Irish coffee this morning?" She inquired as she watched the sun-set yellow liquid slosh down into the tumbler, then she cast him a mischievous look from the corner of her eye to which he simply returned a similar one. "Okay," She nodded and took a sip from her tall straight glass, diverting back to the original thread of their conversation "After this we'll go into Glen Branloch, get what we need and then maybe have a quick look around? Then I thought we could go for hike. Moira said there were some wonderful walks around here when we spoke last week."

Logan nodded, his mouth munching on his second slice of toast, which he then finished in two similarly giant bites as the first. Wiping his hands together, brushing off the more persistent buttery crumbs, he said, "Sure, sounds good."

Happy that their morning and afternoon were planned out, Ororo carried on with her breakfast, spooning out the soft, steaming oats with wild red and purple berries and sweet, sliced Bramley apples. "Umm---this is delicious." She crooned, pointing her silver table spoon down at her bowl. "Why, after all these months have I only just found out that you're a dab hand in the kitchen?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, his glass held up close to his lips ready to take a sip, "It's porridge with bits o' fruit," He intoned dryly, "it's hardly cordon bleu darlin'."  
She pulled a face at him and stuck out her pink tongue slightly, making him laugh; she never did cute things like that when Scooter, Jeannie and Chuck were around. Always Miss-Mature-and-Sensible-Shoes when she was at the school, but get her away from it and she was like a different person almost; relaxed and alive. He adored her most when she was like this, well, he adored her all the time but alone together he could enjoy a side to her that nobody else ever saw. It was all his and that made him feel privileged, special almost that the woman that most of the students in the mansion snidely called the 'Ice Queen' was to him the most warm and loving person in the world.

"Well, I still think it's lovely." She spooned in another mouthful and then swallowing it quickly, asked, "But you do realise what this means don't you?"

"What?" His dark brow furrowed with good natured suspicion. He knew exactly what she kind of lame joke she was going to crack.

"I'll be expecting this every morning when we get back to the mansion!"

"Hmph! In yer dreams darlin'."

Ororo laughed as she ran her spoon around the bowl to scrape up the last of the porridge, "What's the matter? Don't you want the kids to see you in your piny cooking up a storm?!" He growled and that simply made her laugh again. With the full spoon still in hand she stood from her chair and went over to Logan. He leant back on the forest green iron garden chair as she swung her leg over to the other side of his body so that she could straddle his lap. "Try it." She put the utensil to his lips that were quirked into a reluctant grin; his greenish hazel eyes fixed on her intensely as he sat with his arms folded high over his hard, muscular chest. Slowly, without ever taking his gaze from her, he opened his mouth and let her slip the spoon beyond his lips. She tilted it upwards as she began to draw it back out, making sure he got the whole mouthful.

As Logan swallowed it down he unfolded his arms and ran his hands along her naked thighs until they crept underneath the hem of his shirt that she was wearing. He clenched his hands around her slim waist making the scent of desire that was already streaming from her become thick and heady. So much so that he could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue over the sweet tingle of the wild berries that still lingered slightly. As his rough hands held onto her, she flinched in pleasure.

"How about we just stay here fer the day?" The whisper was enticing and low; for a moment she thought about agreeing.

"We can't." She chided softly.

"Who says?" His eyes were still locked onto hers from beneath his brow; alight with a sexily dangerous gleam. "If I had my way we'd stay here all weekend." He leant into her, kissing the exposed patch of her chest, just above where the last button was done up at the top of her cleavage, "...all week..." He whispered and then kissed her again, a little lower this time, "...all month..." a little lower still, "...all year..." That was so insubstantial that she barely heard it. She closed her eyes and licked at her lower lip a little as she felt him somehow undoing the offending top button with some interesting manipulations of his tongue. The shirt fell open…one thing led to another…

*

"Now that's what I call breakfast." He joked, his voice husky as it tore through the quiet of the valley, just the soft undulation of a distant river apparent. She gave an exhausted laugh, as much as she could, as her head bowed forwards to rest against his; their foreheads touching.

Slowly, Ororo started to pull back, "We should go and clean up." she suggested as she climbed off him, drawing her slightly damp hair back with one hand, allowing it to fall down her back. "We can finish this after." Tossing a look at the table from over shoulder she thought it would be a shame to waste it since he'd obviously gone to so much trouble.

"Sure." Tidying himself up, he followed after her back into the cottage. As they crossed over the threshold his eyes fixed on the shapeliness of Ororo's figure, highlighted by the flattering fall of the baggy shirt, draping gracefully over all the curves that mattered. "Damn healing factor." He grumbled to himself as he felt his arousal quickly returning so soon after being satisfied. It was the bane of his life when such delicious temptation stood in his view at all times.

"What?" She asked, throwing a sexy smile back at him as they passed into the living room. She'd heard what he'd said perfectly well and one look at his pants told her what the gripe was about.

"Ya don't wanna know beautiful." He said with a slightly tortured look at that teasing smile that she purposely flashed him again, "Ya don't wanna know." He repeated, readjusting his crotch much to her amusement.

After finally finishing their breakfast the couple took a stroll down into the village. The path was straight-forwards enough, there was no real was way that they could have veered off and gotten lost. Glen Branloch itself was just as beautiful as Ororo had imagined it would be, dry stoned walls lined the winding roads and lanes, the cottages were made of the same local material, there was a wonderfully gothic medieval church just off the village square. On the outer edge, just along the path of their approach there was a Mill-house with a beautiful pond, lined around its boarders with duck weed and a huge working mill wheel turning round and round just for rustic effect rather than industrial practicality. But it was a pleasing sight none-the-less. All the way down the centre of the village ran a small river, with several small stone arching bridges located at various points across it.

They'd found the local food shop with ease but decided to leave the purchasing until after they'd had a walk around. Whilst Ororo had been fascinated by the dribs and drabs of history that could be seen all around on ancient monuments, the weathered grave stones in the pretty church-yard or simply remembrances carved into trees by long dead lovers, Logan had reacted to it with the same enthusiasm as he had the cottage. He was just glad to see that she was enjoying herself, although he did have in the back of his mind the idea of the hike that she'd suggested over breakfast. That was definitely much more his type of thing. Chocolate-box villages didn't really do it for him.

After a relaxed morning of wondering around Ororo suggested that they should stop at the tea rooms they'd passed close to the Mill house. Logan had thought the pub Dougie had mentioned would be a much better idea. A stern look had told him that that was not on the agenda, at least not at twelve o'clock in the afternoon. Somewhat reluctantly he agreed.

"So that's one green tea an' a black coffee?"

"Extra strong black coffee." Logan corrected the waitress. If he couldn't get his whiskey fix then a triple dose of the strongest caffeine he could find would have to do for now.

"Right yae are." She said with a suppressed smirk and then turning to Ororo, asked, "Anythin' else hen?"

"No, that'll be all thanks."

"I'll be back in two ticks." With that the petite blonde left the table and went back around the other side of the counter to make the drinks. As soon as she'd gone Logan reached across the table and took Ororo's hands in his as they rested, loosely balled into one another over the red and white checked cloth. She had been looking at the view from the panoramic window they'd sat down at, but turned her head, with a soft slow smile, to face him as she felt his warm touch.

"What're ya thinkin' about?"

She inclined her head thoughtfully, watching his thumb tracing small circles on the creamy chocolate back of her hand. "How nice this is." She replied softly, the words almost a sigh.

Logan gave a rare and elusive warm smile as he brought her hands up to his lips in the sure cradle of his and planted a small kiss where they clasped together, issuing it to both at once. "Shame we couldn't have got Chuck to give ya the whole week off."

"I know, but I'm needed there."

"You're needed here." The joke was only half serious, but she laughed it off anyway.

"We can't expect the three of them to cope on their own for a week." She admonished, "We're taking in more students by the week. If this keeps up the mansions going to be fit to burst."

"Well I know Rogue wants to stay on after she's graduated at the end of the school year---Bobby too."

"Since when?"

Logan shrugged off-handily. "She mentioned it---couple o' weeks ago I think."

"That's great." She beamed, genuinely pleased that the pair had decided to stay on, goddess knows they needed the extra hands.

"Yeah," he nodded, obviously happy as well that the girl he considered a kind of foster daughter had decided to stay on, despite having regained her confidence enough to have led a fairly normal life in ordinary human society, "an' she said she was thinkin' of gettin' in touch with her parents too."

"That would be good for her." Ororo replied thoughtfully, "It has been nearly three years now. So many of the kids haven't got that opportunity."

Logan made a vague noise of agreement and then shifted forwards, the seriousness lightening a little, "But anyway, let's ferget about the school, the kids and enjoy ourselves---that's why were here darlin'."

"Of course my love." Leaning in, she was about give him a quick kiss, not being able to resist when he was being unusually sweet, but was stopped mid action when the waitress, Shirley, returned with their orders.

"One green tea and an---extra strong---coffee." The young blonde in the terribly unflattering pee green skirt and green and white striped shirt,(her rather unfortunate uniform), set the cups down in front of their respective owners. "Ay'd offer yae a wee 'nip with that if ay could, hen," she said in a playfully conspiratorial whisper to Logan, "but it's against house rules."

Logan smiled up at her, almost kindly. "S'alright---I'll wait 'till later thanks."

"Are yae here on holiday then or jus' passin' through?"

"Holiday," Ororo nodded, "Just for the weekend."

"Oh, that's nice." The girl replied with sincere enthusiasm, "We don't usually get many tourists at this time of year. So, where's home for yae?"

"New York."

"Ooo, very cosmopolitan!" At that point they, moreover Logan, was hoping she'd go and leave them to it. There was no real malice there; she seemed a nice enough girl but it felt like the conversation was turning into a game of twenty questions. But, unfortunately, she continued, obviously a little excited to be conversing with people from a little further a-field than England or perhaps simply polite. "Where abouts are yae stayin' 'round here?"

"A cottage, just outside the village---up in the glen." Ororo informed her patiently; her fuse wasn't as short as Logan's. Which was the reason that she was a teacher and he decided it would be best for him to keep out of that hornets nest altogether and limit himself to mansion maintenance.

The waitress seemed to stop, a slight but definite change in her manner; her genial smile slipping...just a fraction. "Darkness Falls." Her voice suddenly sounded a little...flat.

Ororo turned to Logan wit a questioning look, trying to remember the name of the cottage, or if indeed they'd been told it in the first place. Turning back to the girl, she gave a tiny shrug and a slight shake of the head, "I'm not sure what it's called to be honest," She narrowed her dark eyes slightly while she paused to think again and then a detail about the place came back to her. Something she'd noticed when they'd arrived last night but she hadn't thought about until now. "There was a plaque above the door, it had a date on it...fifteen---fifteen ninety-six I think."

"Fifteen ninety-six." The girl repeated lightly as if to herself and then she flicked her eyes back up to Storm and nodded, "Ay, that's the place."

"SHIRLEY!" The waitress whirled around in complete surprise as her name was shouted aloud over the frequent clinking sounds and soft, rumbling chatter of the tea room patrons. A middle aged woman with loosely curled dark shoulder length hair, tied back in a pony tail close to the nape of her neck had her head sticking out from the doorway that led into the kitchens. "If yae've stopped gassin' lass, yae might notice we've got a cafe full of customers that need servin'!"

"Sorry Morag." She responded, a little flustered and then turned back to Ororo and Logan. "Sorry about that, ay do let my mouth run away with me sometimes," She laughed, although it appeared to be almost forced, as if trying to shake that shift that had come over her when Ororo had mentioned the cottage. "Well I hope yae enjoy yer stay." And then she was quickly off, nipping behind the counter and offering sunny hellos to an old couple who where waiting to be served.

"She was nice." Ororo remarked fondly.

"Nosey." Logan replied dryly with a cock of his eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him but also gave him a smile threw pursed lips, "Don't be so cruel!" Tapping his hand she couldn't help but laugh at his fairly typical attitude. "The poor girl was only trying to make us feel welcome."

"Whatever." As he uttered the throwaway comment he picked up his mug and took a sip but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes shifted for a spit second to the girl behind the counter as he thought. Ororo may not have noticed the minute change in her demeanour but he couldn't help but. He was always constantly aware of just the most mundane feature of a person, when they lied, when they were suppressing anger or anything else and especially when they were emitting fear. That was a particularly potent odour that he never missed or read wrong because it was so overwhelmingly sickly. It concerned him for a moment but he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. Like he'd said to Ororo before; they were here to relax and enjoy themselves, so he wasn't about to worry himself about it. It was probably just yokel-local types doing what they're best at; being stupidly superstitious of places that had local legends and myths attached to them. No matter where one went in the world, it was inevitable that you'd come across at least one. So he ignored it.

* * *

The time was only four thirty in the afternoon but darkness was already descending over the country side; the muted blue/grey of an early winter time Scottish dusk hanging in the sky like an opaque lampshade. After the tea rooms, Logan and Ororo had spent some more time browsing and then gone to the small shop that was in the centre of the single row of shops on the main street. They'd decided that the hike they'd talked about at breakfast could wait until tomorrow and that there were more...interesting things they could be doing with their time.

"You okay with that?"

Ororo glanced to the side at him and tutted. "It's only a grocery bag---I'm sure I can cope." She jested.

"Jus' tryin' ta be a gentleman darlin', that's all."

At that, she laughed outright, "I could think of many things to describe you as Logan, but 'gentleman' would certainly not be one of the first adjectives that would spring to mind!"

"Hmph! Charmin'!" He said with mock indignity. "Remind me ta ferget about Valentines day when it comes around, will ya."

"Oh, you wouldn't dare!" She gasped and then chuckled. Opening her mouth to offer further playful assault, Ororo was stopped when she saw a man coming along the road towards them. She quickly converted to a genial smile as he neared them but it quickly developed into one of curiosity as his image became clearer through the burgeoning gloom. The stranger was tall, one could almost say gangling; his near deathly pallor emphasised by the sharp black lines of his moustache and finely trimmed goatee and shock of similarly dark black hair that hung almost shoulder length. Added to that the long, dark trench-coat that turned his body into a substantial, solid 'apparition'; he cut a striking figure on first sight.

"Evening." The man said cordially and nodded to the pair as came not more than a few yards away. At first, it seemed he would go straight past them, having offered his friendly greeting but then he halted, making them feel obliged to stop as well. Rather unexpectedly the stranger suddenly offered out his hand to Logan.

But Logan being Logan, first he looked down at it; long and thin, even within its black leather covering, and then lifted his dark gaze up to its owner. Only then did he accept it; reaching for it with a deliberate slowness, his face a hard mask.

"Branwell Ramnicu Valcea Branloch." His voice was rich and clear as he spoke his rather over convoluted name, the Scotch accent definitely there but very different from those in the village, less thick suggesting that he was perhaps from further south, Edinburgh maybe.

"Logan." As he replied, in a fairly curt, monosyllabic manner he took his hand from the strangers grasp, letting it drop to his side. The instantaneous dislike was completely clear for all to see; a feeling made all the worse when he then turned his attention onto Ororo.

"Ororo Munroe." She said as she too took the hand that was offered to her, thinking to herself that it was either quite strange that his last surname was that of the village or that it was just a pretty amazing coincidence.

"You're just visiting Glen Branloch?" The question was general but he still had his pair of almost acridly green eyes on Ororo. Fixing her with a familiarity that was unbecoming for someone she'd just met.

"Yeah." Logan cut in before Storm got chance to say anything, kidding himself that he was becoming increasingly annoyed simply because the locals didn't seem to know how to keep to themselves. But it wasn't that, though he couldn't quite pin-point what exactly it was that had set his well-tuned alarm bells ringing...

Eventually, the man tore his unnervingly...potent eyes from Ororo, resuming a somewhat casual, if not assured aspect. "Ay hope you enjoy your stay," he said first to Logan and then turning back to Storm there was a slight pause, "...'an you Miss." And then he was off, his heals clicking soundly against the grey asphalt of the road that lead into Glen Branloch as they watched after him.

Ororo pouted her lips a little before turning to Logan with a creased brow as if to say 'that was slightly weird', but he was still watching that man go, only looking away once he'd disappeared around the bend in the road. "Logan?"

"Come on," He muttered as he slowly tore his gaze away, "Let's get back." Trying to push the uneasy feeling that was creeping over him to the back of his mind, he wrapped his free arm around Ororo's shoulder, pulling he close as they carried on up the path, heading back for the cottage before the light faded completely.

-TBC-


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter.3.

Later that evening...

"Ready for the next one?" Ororo asked dulcetly, a sexy smile teasing on her lips, pulling them into a deliciously full pout. She dangled the lightly sugared strawberry above his mouth, brushing it along his barely parted lips tantalisingly. A delighted gasp uttered from her mouth as he snapped his teeth around it without warning; springing with all the sharp movement of a predator. He tried to fight it but couldn't help but suck in his cheeks at the extremity of the sweetness on his over-sensitive taste buds as just his left eye screwed shut in a kind of physical wince.

Ororo chuckled as she brought what was left of the fleshy red fruit to her mouth and finished it. She made a shocked mumbled noise around the soft, sweet food as Logan suddenly sat up, taking her from her straddling position over his stretched out legs so that she lay flush against the thick sheep wool shag-pile that was laid out over the cold floor over the living room, just in front of the pleasantly roaring log fire. He brushed his lips against as he came in close, resting as much of his weight as he dared on top of her, taking in the fresh sandalwood scent mingled with that of the fresh fruit and white wine she'd had earlier. "So beautiful..." He murmured, making her smile at the delicate feel of his warm strawberry tinged breath caressing her face as he spoke and then brushed her lips with his once more.

She reached up, cupping her hands at first around the back of his neck and then running them slowly up until she had her fingers intertwined in his surprisingly soft lamb-chops, the only rough texture coming from his rather thick five o'clock shadow. Tilting her head back slightly against the off-white rug beneath her, she pressed her lips to his, moving them against his slowly and allowing him to reciprocate in kind. Uttering a soft sigh just before their kiss deepened, she let her hands run up into his hair as she lifted her legs up about his waist; clasping them together just lightly. "You know," she whispered musingly as their lips parted for a moment, "Ummm....I might just...take you up on that offer."

"What...offer?"

Ororo smiled through the kiss, "To stay here...forever..." She crooned delicately, recalling their earlier conversation, or moreover, foreplay.

"Sounds good..." The softly spoken words rumbled in his chest so that she could literally feel them, causing a tingling sensation to run through her, just like a teenager in the first pangs... They stayed like this for a while longer; kissing contentedly in the vigorous yet balmy firelight, t the soundtrack of its sporadic popping, spitting and gentle crackling. In this completely sated state, the two lovers really could have remained here, in this tempered world forever. After a time, neither of which knew how long, they sat nestled together on the pale fleece, Logan with his back leant against the large padded reading chair behind his whilst Ororo lay with her cheek against his chest, her arms folded around his midriff and long legs tangled with his.

"The village was nice," She said through the gentle silence, "very friendly. But that man was a bit---odd. Don't you think?" She raised her head slightly to look up at him in anticipation of an answer. She could have sworn for a second that she felt him stiffen beneath her arms, but dismissed it.

"Odd." He muttered gruffly, "that's not exactly the word I'd use ta describe him, darlin'." His face darkened in simple remembrance of the way he'd been looking at Storm. Not lecherously, but with something infinitely more disquieting than that. And there was still that thing at the back of his mind that he couldn't quiet pin-point that had got to him too. Something that he'd happily put out of his mind until seconds ago.

"Oh Logan," Ororo laughed against his bare chest, "you truly have to be one of the most misanthropic people I have ever met!"

Logan just snorted bemusedly; he would have given a rebuttal if he'd known what the hell the word meant. All he knew was that it did not sound as if it were meant as a compliment. He shifted to the side as Ororo moved above him, straddling his lap once more. But as he moved he felt something in his jeans pocket dig into the side of his right leg and then he remembered, with a slight gleam in his eye, exactly what it was. "Just for that," he began, linking his hands together at the small of her back as she sat astride him, figuring out a way to get some 'pay back' for her comment, "I've got a good mind not t' give you yer present."

"You might threaten well Mr. Wolverine," She said in a mock sly voice, leaning in closer to him and placing her hands on his sides, deceptively lightly. "But I have a secret weapon up my sleeve." Her lips were close to his now, mere seconds away from a certified lip lock, or so it seemed...

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes." Then she sprung her plan into action, tickling his sides mercilessly, laughing at the simple fact that he, with all his might, was desperately trying to hold his in. But he wouldn't relent, instead trying to catch hold of her torturous hands but they were just too damn quick, "Come on! Give it to me!" She cried through her merriment, only receiving a vigorous shake of the head in return; his lips sealed shut, pursing them with his cheeks puffed out so that he looked as if he were about to burst.

Eventually Logan could take no more and rescinded, letting out a gusty breath with a pent up laugh tailing it, "Alright! Alright! I give up," He threw his hands up in surrender, "You win!"

Ororo beamed with a sense of triumph; one hand held haughtily on her hip the other stretched out, palm flat in anticipation of receiving her 'prize. "Remember," she said cunningly, "I know all your weaknesses now."

"Yeah? An' I know all yours...but it'll keep." He warned playfully as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a long box covered in a richly deep red velvet. He watched contentedly as her eyes gleamed with expectation as he hooked his thumb under the clasp and pushed it upwards; the heavy weight of the compressed hinges making the lid flip up open with a sudden and satisfying pop. Slowly he reached in, drawing out a long sliver chain. Snapping the box back shut he laid it to one side.

Ororo made a slight noise of awe as Logan gently took hold of her left hand and extended her wrist out to him. With ease he fastened the bracelet around the slender length of her lower arm. Once he'd finished she brought it closer to her, her mouth slightly parted as she examined the beautifully clear cut diamonds that were set into a series of small silver 'X's. She ran her finger lightly over the shape of one, "It's beautiful Logan." She fairly whispered, "I---."

"Shh!" Logan suddenly cut her off, raising his hand to quiet her too.

"What is it?"

"Quite." He admonished again, as he turned his head to the side and his eyes became unfocused as he tried to make out whatever sound it was that he'd heard. Ororo looked around and tried to listen out too but hadn't a hope in hell of hearing the type of fine and almost imperceptible noises that Logan could pick up. His ears twitched, just slightly as he gently began to move Ororo off his lap. "Stay here a minute."

"Logan, what is it?" She asked more sternly this time, "What can you hear?"

By this time Logan was up and looking out of the window. It was as black as ebony out there and even with his keen eyes he struggled to see anything, but he could have sworn he'd heard something out there. "I don't know." He replied distractedly, still peering out into the darkness. Then he turned and made directly for the door, not bothering to put his shoes on before he yanked the thick wooden door open and went out into the cool night in just his jeans. Ororo didn't get chance to protest.

In a mode of stealth that came to him like a second nature, Logan made his way around to the back of the cottage. There was no moon out tonight and the stars were smothered by a thick layer of cloud that added extra ink to the sky. It was deathly silent save for the sound of the veiled river somewhere over the hill. But as they say; silence can be deafening.

Coming around the east wall of the building he focused intently on everything around him, trying to shallow his breaths as much as possible so as not to distract himself with the rushing sound of them in his ears. Sticking close to the wall he tried to ignore the furious itch that plagued the groves between the knuckles on each hand. He forced the need to release the gleaming blades embedded in each hand down for now—although it did take his all. When they wanted to come out badly enough something in his body always seemed to override his mind.

There was a small barn type building behind the cottage, to the left of where they'd had breakfast this morning, painted with the same white paint, although it appeared somewhat more dilapidated in its physical state. Then it came again. The sound he'd been almost positive that his sensitive ears had picked up earlier. It was like a shifting or perhaps a dragging. Whatever it was it was coming from inside that small building with its sagging roof that was made of dull slate rather than the dark wiriness of thatch.

Logan held still for a moment; his breath halted; the wall at his back like ice. He listened---he waited. Nothing more came. As he started towards the gaping black of the opening once more, whose door was hanging awkwardly to one side, balancing just so against the flaking paint of the wall behind it, he became aware of scents. Some familiar, some new. Of the living and...the dead. He could pin-point it now, leading him to wonder why he hadn't spotted it the moment he'd left the house. A pungent trail that hung so thickly he could almost see it, weaving like a dark wisp of black smoke through the already consuming darkness.

Once he had come to the edge of the doorway, he paused. Resting his hands on the weathered, rounded edges of the low opening, he dipped his head beneath the wooden beam to gain entrance, slow moving in; a sleek form with movements of animal-like control. Master of every muscle and joint.

The reek hit him full on now he was inside, all the animal smells that vied for dominance over the softer tone of brittle and dried straw. The same straw that prickled with crispness underneath his bare feet. He gave himself a moment to adjust to all of these new assaults; above which that putrid scent still raged---stronger than ever now. He absently ran his tongue over his bottom lip, making it glisten with warm, viscous saliva---the opaque stench riling something dark and buried deep inside him. But he fought it like he always did, in fact he never stopped on some subconscious level; that particular battle never ending for him.

Mentally, Logan pulled back, trying to concentrate on his surroundings, his eyes flicking over the barn-like space that was now practically as clear to him as day, only cast in darker tones. He could see the old farming equipment, piled up and rusting to his left, draped with cobwebs and stray bits of yellow straw. Old relics, still within their deaths, stacked like old war monuments. Forgotten in there age as time drifted by. On his right there was a ladder that led up to a platform of sorts but beneath that were two stalls, pig pens perhaps. Once upon a time...

*SKURRRRICK!*

Logan shot his attention down to the pen on the left hand side from where the bazaar noise emanated; its waist-high stall door slightly ajar, waiting to be pushed back.

It was coming from there, Logan realised as a deep growl started in his chest and he moved towards it. The stench was coming from there...The stall door screeched into the darkness, its rust laden cry of pain. As soon as it had edged open enough there was a furious rustling and then a fast scampering, heading straight for him.

*SNIKT!!!SNIKT!!!* The sound resonated through-out the barn as something rushed at Logan, brushing swiftly against his legs. He turned, watched the small dark blur pass. He had realised what it was before the meagre amount of light that came from outside illuminated it on its swift way to escape. A fox. Blood smeared its muzzle and panic lit its eyes as it disappeared off into the night.

Logan shook his head as his claws became concealed once more and laughed at himself. "Goddamn fox---talk about overreacting bub." He stepped into now vacant pen, the scattered remnants of the wild animals meal laid about, dying the pale straw in dark clots of red that looked jet black. The dead lamb was in pieces; throat ripped out, the contents of its midriff spilling out onto the ground. Wiping the back of his hand along the underside of his nose as if to wash away the smell that was by now near overwhelming, Logan stepped back out of the stall, letting the low door clatter shut behind him.

He was quietly surprised that he hadn't realised what it was earlier. It wasn't like him to not be able to pin-point a scent straightaway. So lost in his own thoughts was he that he didn't notice the figure or even register it in his senses; stood just outside the doorway as he dipped to exit it.

*SNIKT!!SNIKT!!*

"Goddess!" Ororo caught his hand just in time with both of hers; three gleaming blades just centimetres away from the slender length of her throat, above the pulsing jugular. "Has anyone ever told you to be careful where you put these things?" She said with a nervous laugh as they slipped back into his hand neatly; just three slight trickles of crimson to leave any trace of there presence.

"Sorry darlin'." He offered sheepishly as he lowered his hand and then pulled her close to him, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

"What was it?" She asked after a moment, moving her head against his hard shoulder to look up at him.

"Just a fox." He admitted with a self-deprecating laugh as he gave her a quick squeeze closer to him. "C'mon---let's get back inside. It's damn cold out here."

"Really?" She replied amused as they started back towards the open cottage door that spilled out a pool of warm orange light. "I hadn't noticed."

"Yeah well," he scoffed, "We can't all be lucky enough ta be able to regulate are body temperature." They crossed back over the thresh hold and back into the warmth and light. The door closed with a neat click behind them.

As soon as the door closed the scent of warm living flesh and the rushing flow of raging blood dissipated; leaving him only with the ingrained impression on his memory. His cold flesh retaining and feeling nothing---only the memory could hold onto things now. Taunting him by their very existence. With parted lips he let out a harsh breath as he saw them cross the window, illuminated by the lamp and fire light. He closed his mouth, snapping it shut; the catch of two sharp points on dry lips draw nothing for him---he was running dry.

He moved to the side, the thorny branches of the bramble that hid him scraping at the skin of his face and hands as he tracked their movements across the living room. She had turned out the small lamp by the side of the sofa whilst he was knelt in front of the fire, taking ashes by the shovel full from a bucket on the hearth, pouring them over the raging flames. After picking up a small box from the ground she went back over to him as the last of the fire fought for breath in the face of the clouds of heavy grey. She ran her free hand over his bare shoulder as she leant into him; snow white hair falling lightly down over her face and onto him as she whispered something close to his ear. Beautiful voluptuous lips close to him, just brushing against the man---Logan's---- skin. He imagined how that felt as he watched the interplay, concealed in the darkness.

She pulled back then and headed for the stairs, hopping quickly up them. Eyes that were lit with a vicious green like those of a cat in the dark moved up to the currently dark window of the bedroom; waiting with intense anticipation for the light to spring into life. He caught back a breath when it did; flooding the room and throwing her into vision. The memory of taste came to him as he watched her; the light swing of soft pale hair against warm toned swarthy skin. His thin lips drew back from his teeth of their own volition, baring their sharp whiteness in the black. He wanted to move now, feel the tinge of the metalic as it washed over his tongue, warm liquid as it slipped down his throat. But even more so than these things the beat, the rising beat that would thump against his parted lips just before the taking. Seeing that pulse just beneath smooth skin stretched out and waiting for him, wanting him---that was always the sweetest, purest thing of all...

That neck was waiting for him; it would want him to issue it with his exquisite sting. Just like all the others had. She would want him too. In the end they always did...So not tonight---tonight was not the right time. But to wait would only make it all the sweeter. That he knew most definitely.

The curtains were drawn with a rough pull; he could here the zipping sound the action made all the way from here. As the sight of her was taken from him he pulled back, slinking away, taking himself away, further into the thick growth of bramble, whose sweet fruits were just appearing green.

Not tonight, no not tonight...but tomorrow...

-TBC-


	4. Chapter 4

Laird= Scottish Lord.

Chapter.4.

It had been a regular thing of hers for a couple of years now---her early morning cloud walk. She'd only gained real confidence in her abilities after a long time had passed living at the mansion. Never in a million years before that would she have thought of flaunting her powers so---but still she made sure that there was absolutely nobody about before she stepped off the sill of their bedroom window and struck out into mute sky of pre-dawn blue.

Eyes alight with a white fire, Ororo Munroe soared forth, dipping and swerving---manipulating the air currents just enough to keep her aloft but she let the wind take her where it would. Swooping over the rolling hills and hidden brooks, the world appeared life a scale model of itself from her elevated position---a position she felt so privileged to behold in this way. She closed her milky eyes as dark, weighty clouds converged above her, an unconscious act on her part, giving the earth below a light smattering of rain. The currents raced about her with all their life and vibrancy, passing on their sentience or perhaps gaining it from her. It was an exchange of life force, a kind of...symbiosis.

Finally Storm came to a rest atop of one of the peeking hills, the dew drops cool on her feet, giving her an excellent view of the entire glen. She breathed in deep, letting her head fall back; a silent blessing to the Goddess on her lips as her lose hair flailed about her. She hadn't been this...content, in years...

"Enjoying the view?"

Ororo was rudely broken from her meditations as the lilting voice burst from behind her, cutting like a knife through the morning's peace. She turned abruptly---the man with the shallow face and penetrating, severe eyes stood before her; body clad in black. "I'm sorry," She laughed lightly, "You startled me."

"Sorry...Miss Munroe." The stranger offered, making a gesture with his hand against his chest.

"Ororo, please." She implored him out of politeness.

"Ororo." He repeated affably, somewhat slowly.

She smiled, although she fully realised that it looked forced----and it certainly was. So she turned from him; taking her eyes back down onto the craggy and velvet textured glen below. A lesson in visual contradictions. There were no words for a time; only the gentle whistle of the wind that still whipped her hair haphazardly, though the clouds had rolled back now, revealing a lighter sky but still no sun to set it ablaze. Dawn was a good half-an-hour away at least.

All through that time the man had remained just behind her and that made Ororo feel more uncomfortable than the mere fact that he was there. There was a shifting noise; it made her turn her head, just slightly like a reflex towards it. But she looked forwards again as she sensed him stepping up to her side. Her head fixed resolutely forwards. But she broke eventually, she couldn't stand the silence any longer---there was no way that she could simply walk away. So she would have to talk.

"How long have you lived here?" She asked by way of making conversation---any conversation.

He did not rush to answer, moreover it was as if he wished the silence to extend. But eventually he replied, "All of my life." He looked over to her and then back out at the landscape, "As my father, and his father before him and his father before him." She heard him take a soft breath. "...and so it goes." He added quietly.

"Quite a family history here then." She said, in professed admiration, relaxing a little now.

"Aye...though as fer my mother's family...that's different."

"Really?" By this time Ororo had become genuinely, if somewhat reluctantly interested.

"Her family were Romanian---going back over the centuries."

"That would account for the name then." Ororo said thoughtfully, remembering its convoluted sound but not what it was. Vamnicu Ralcea? Something like that.

He nodded, thin lips resembling a smile. "Yes---Ramnicu Valcea." She almost had it. "That's pure Romanian---but Branloch," He gave a short laugh; a private joke he found amusing, "That would be my father's legacy."

"Of course," Ororo said, turning to look at him now as she reached up and held a wave of wild hair from flying in her view; keeping her hand close to the side of her head with the lock lightly entwined through her fingers, "but how did your family come to gain the name of the village?---if you don't mind me asking." She added quickly, fearing that she may have been a little over presumptuous.

"No, not at all," He waved a hand to dismiss any awkwardness. "My family have been the Lairds of these parts since settling here during the reign of Edward the Second. It's a lot of history," His head panned slowly to the left, until it fell, in its natural line, onto Ororo, "...a lot of blood too."

"I can imagine." She didn't make any move to divert her gaze from his---the hold...ardent.

"Would you allow me tae show yae somethin'?" He asked unexpectedly, pulling Ororo back from wherever it was she'd just slipped to. It was only when he spoke that she had realised that she had been unabashedly staring at him.

"What?" Her voice held a mild uncertainty that she tried her best to disguise.

"Forgive me if yae think I'm being a might to forward," He said apologetically, "It's just there's a beautiful spot not far from here---just between those two valley's in fact." he turned and pointed to a spot somewhere off to his right. Facing Ororo again he continued, "No' many people get tae see it---it's so secluded. It would be nice fer someone else tae see it again. Yae know, share it."

"Well," Ororo started with that same uncertainty, much more obvious this time despite her efforts to brush it off, "I shouldn't really be too long---Logan was still sleeping when I left, he---."

"Don't worry about it, dear." Branloch cut in, as if to appease her guilt at declining his offer. "Perhaps another time, maybe."

As statements like that are designed to do, it made her think twice about her haste to reject his suggestion. This was their last full day here and she might not get the opportunity again to see whatever it was. After all, locals tended to be the ones who knew all the really amazing beauty spots that passers-by just never had the time or inclination to sniff out. The direction he was pointing in was back towards the cottage anyway, so why not take a ten minute diversion?

"Actually, I don't know when I'll be here again so, yes," She smiled. "I'd love to see this spot."

"Good." Branloch nodded and then stepped aside in gentlemanly gesture for Ororo to go first; him following just half a step behind "Yae wonna regret it."

Logan could feel the mild breeze flowing in from the window before he even opened his eyes. Slowly he did, letting the dull light flood his keen sight gradually as not to overwhelm it. There was a thick greyness that greeted him when he tipped his head back into the pillow to see outside; the white-washed window frame hanging half open, the glass reflecting the sky in a brighter hue. He let his head sink back down and groaned slightly in a half-sleeping manner, closing his eyes once more. Out cloud walking again he assumed. For a while he tried to get back to sleep but he knew it was folly to even try; once he was awake, he was awake. Not even a tranquiliser dart fit for rhino was going to put him back out.

With a half muttered grumble he threw the body warmed sheets back, exposing himself to the morning cold as he swung his legs down onto the floor. Lifting his arms up, he stretched the top half of his body out, yawning massively before getting up and heading to the window. Leaning on the dew-damp sill he peered out into the murky light. Now that he was up, he may as well make the most of it, he thought drably. The words 'sore head' and 'bear' had oft been applied to describe him at this time of the day. Physical exercise usually did the trick to shake him out of it. Maybe a short run would do it. He headed out of the room, pulling on his sweat pants and a T-shirt as he went; intending to grab something light to eat before he left. Perhaps he'd bump into Ororo on her way back he thought to himself absently as he jogged quickly down the old wooden stair case.

His old white T-shirt clung in various places where they sweat collected against his skin. Close to the top of his back, at the pits of his arms and across the broad expanse of his chest. He could feel the tense pressure in his calf muscles as ran up the hill; dodging a rock here, a tree root there. Skipping deftly over anything that got in his way, the heat swelled and the adrenaline ran through him like acid. But as he neared the summit a scent caught his attention, mingling with that of grass, heather and fresh highland water. Ororo was near by. Due north-west if his nose was right, as he tipped his head slightly, sniffing at the air. If he was right? He'd never known his nose to be wrong yet. He started running again, but veered off the course he was going along in a diagonal direction to his left.

The ground levelled off after a while, before sloping down again as the hills became tall, deep cervices at his sides. Her aroma became stronger as he went on as did the scent of water and its rushing sound. As he made his way further down the path he could have sworn he heard the whisper of voices, just faintly beneath the roar. But he didn't stop to confirm them---he could tell she was close now, very close.

"Wow---it really is beautiful." Ororo said with obvious awe as she gazed at the gushing waterfall; the white rapture of its water cascading down like gifts from the goddess. A light spray of water seemed to fill the small, secluded space that ice had carved millions of years ago. The dampness that hung in the atmosphere clung to the smooth rocks and pebbles like the moss and the aquatic plants, giving the whole place a sparkling feel.

"I used to come here a lot as a boy." Branloch told her wistfully, "My secret little hiding place."

Ororo nodded but said nothing as she kneeled down at the side of the small pool that the waterfall fed. Dipping her hand in, she allowed herself to experience the icy coolness of the liquid as it slipped between her fingers. "Is it safe to drink?" She asked quickly over her shoulder.

"Aye." He replied as he watched her scoop up another pool to taste the cold clarity. "The cottage yae're stayin' in is named after this place---Darkness Falls."

"Where did it get the name from?" She took another sip, then let her hand go loose, sprinkling down the leftover water in droplets back from where they came. When he didn't answer her she started to repeat, "Where did---." But she was stopped short when she turned half around to see nobody there.

"You talkin' to yerself darlin'?" Logan said with an amused smile as he entered the small clearing. "Maybe all this seclusion isn't such a good thing after all."

"I---." She stood up, absently drying her hand on her trousers with a more than slightly perplexed look on her face. "I was just---." Her hand began to point in the direction where he had been standing, literally seconds ago. But it dropped limply back down as she looked back up to where Logan was stood and shook her head, distractedly adding, "It---it doesn't matter." Then she smiled, crossing her arms across her chest as she pulled her flowing white cardigan around her and made her way up to him. "Let's get back." She said as reached him and took his hand into hers and began to lead him away.

"Are you okay?" Logan asked as he looked down at her, thinking that she seemed a little...spaced out.

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Goddess yes!" She replied with mock annoyance and then laughed as they left the secluded nook, giving his slightly moist damp hand a short squeeze to assure him. But she couldn't help but glance back at the place one last time, utterly confused and quite frankly, a little 'creeped-out' too. High above the morning gloom cleared and the sun just started to make its presence known.

Hours later...

Shirley swept the last of the dirt into a pile at the corner of the café, ready to be dust-panned up later. Leaning the stiff bristled broom against the counter, the blonde waitress took the soapy, greying dishcloth from next to it and started on the tables. Most of them were clear and only required the merest of skims with the hot cloth to rid them of the left over crumbs, spilt sugar and the circular tea and coffee stains that dotted the plastic tops like crop circles in cornfields. She came to the last table in the corner. Two white china cups rested inside one another, sat on its shaded surface, the light from the kitchen being the only illumination in the main area of the shop. She picked them up with a rattling sound, holding them aloft while she shimmied the now fairly dirty cloth across the smooth surface, absently wiping crumbs onto a floor she'd already swept.

But Shirley's mind wasn't with it right now. She'd been in a daze ever since yesterday, when the couple from New York had come in. She was thinking about them, up there, in that place by themselves. Try as she may not to, she simply couldn't help it. If only she'd said something to them, warned them somehow, but what could she have said? They'd have thought her mad. Most of the people in the village were content to ignore it, pretend like it wasn't happening. As long as they were left to live in peace then they would stand idly by. That was their unspoken bargain---to live in mutual pretence. A state of affairs that had gone on for time immemorial. But she had always found it that bit harder to accept than most.

As the young girl took one last swipe at the dirt on the table there came a soft click from behind her, barely audible but enough to tip her distracted nerves over the edge. She jumped with a harsh gasp escaping her lips, the two china cups in her hand toppling to the stone floor and shattering into a thousand tiny white shards.

"What in the blazes are up to now girl?!" An irate sounding Morag came storming out of the kitchen, a checked tea towel wiping away the suds from her work-coarse bony fingers.

"Sorry Morag luv," A rumbling low male voice came from the doorway of the small café to answer in Shirley's stead, "I think I startled the wee lass." He admitted as he trouped over to the counter, taking off his flat cap and throwing it down on the surface. He climbed up onto a stool, flicking back his muddy dark green trench coat so that it draped over the back of the stool as he swung his hunting rifle off his shoulder and laid it carefully down next to his old worn cap. "Yae're a wee bit jittery taenight, eh?"

"A—aye Mr. Miller." She said quietly, still feeling a little flustered. Quickly she went and retrieved the stiff bristled broom and began to gather up all the broken crockery; none of the pieces remaining large enough to be picked up by hand.

Morag came around the other side of the counter, her ever watchful eyes on the girl busying herself, trying to pretend not to notice that she was being watched. The dark haired woman folded her arms over her chest as she leant the small of her back against the hard curved rim of the counter, close to her husband. "She's been like in a mouse in a cattery ever since yesterday---ay dunna know what's gotten intae her." Shirley's jaw tightened, but she wasn't facing her boss so she wouldn't have seen the action as she began to push the brush against the floor that bit harder, taking more erratic swipes at the glittering pieces that carpeted the ground. Giving a short shake of her head and a silently exasperated sigh, Morag turned to her husband, "So what've yae got fer me then hen?"

"If yae get me a coffee woman, then mebbe I'll give it tae yae."

Morag laughed and gave him a playful slap on the arm as she started around the counter and flicked on the percolator that stood on the back shelf; a small red light lit up on the side as a sound like the distant roll of waves started to rise up. "Right, come on now Jude, hand it over."

The brawny, rather unkempt looking man shook his head and gave his wife a grin as he reached into his trench coat and unhooked something from his shoulder. He pulled out, suspended on a joining length of rope, two rabbits; their black dead eyes round like shinning marbles. "Fresh---just an hour ago." He announced as he handed them over to his wife.

Morag took them off him, turning them this way and then that in inspection; the only marks on the fine pair of tawny brown specimens the round dark holes on the leg and flank where the fatal bullets entered. "Aye---these'll do, sure enough." She carried them into the kitchen to hang them in the fridge until morning when she could skin and gut them. While she was in there, hanging them at the back of the industrial sized fridge she called back to him, "Where did yae get them?"

Jude was busy making a hand rolled cigarette; running a rough tongue along the transparent glue strip at the top of a Swan paper. Taking it away from his mouth, he concentrated on it intently as he rolled it between thick dirty hands, his brow furrowing. "Up at the Vetch." He called back before popping the tightly rolled white paper in his mouth and striking up a match to light it.

Morag came back out from the kitchen, standing just in the doorway, her face holding a kind of frozen look to it in the phosphorus light. "Yae were on the Lairds land?"

"Aye." He replied sternly as he exhaled a thick cloud up into the air.

"Jude," She said with a hint of disbelief, "What've I said about paochin' on his land? Do'yae want tae---." She stopped suddenly as she heard a soft muttering coming from Shirley as she bent down and brushed up all the mess in the corner. "What was that?" She asked somewhat severely.

Shirley looked over at the other woman, her expression suddenly sheepish as she poured the broken cups and a days worth of mud and dust into a black bin. "I---I jus' said that he'd be safe that's all."

"Oh really," Morag placed her hands on her hips as she leant her body weight to one side, a haughty air about her, "An' what would yae know about it, hen?"

Shirley shrugged as she tucked a flaxen lock behind her ear. "Nuthin'." She mumbled as she picked up the broom again and brushed absently at the floor---anything to avoid facing Morag and Jude, whose incredibly light gaze she could feel on her too.

"That's right---nuthin'." The percolator began to bubble like a witch's cauldron behind her.

"But," Shirley said after a moment of silence, plucking up the courage, "They...he does tend t-tae leave locals alone." She stuttered nervously. She was breaking the rules she knew. Nobody ever talked about it---not directly. "It's only the---."

"Only the what?" Jude cut in roughly, taking his cig out of his mouth and turning on his stool to face her fully; his cold eyes even colder.

"There're people up there now---at that place...a couple."

"So?" Morag asked curtly.

"Well," The young girl shrugged again, feeling her cheeks on fire as heat rose in them, turning them a rosy pink. "Dae'y no' think it's unfair---tae let them stay there when we know---."

"An' what dae'y suppose we do lass?" Jude shouted angrily, "There's nuthin' we can dae an' yae know it. Yae're best tae leave well alone," He turned back to the counter, away from her, leaning his elbows on it, his broad back hunched as he grumbled, "jus' like everyone else." Putting white paper to his lips he inhaled deeply.

Shirley felt hot tears pricking at her eyes; tears of frustration as well as fear. She sniffled, wiping her nose quickly with the back of her hand as she put the broom back against the wall and started to remove her piny. "Is it alright if I go?" She asked quietly, her head bowed as she screwed up the cotton piny and placed it on the edge of the counter.

"Aye."

With a sullen silence, the young girl quickly grabbed her coat and bag from the hook next to the kitchen door. Pulling the heavy black corduroy on and slinging her bag over her head so that it lay diagonally across her body, she quickly left the café.

* * *

Ororo sat in the nook by the window behind the sofa, looking out at the view from the front of the cottage. Dreamily she gazed, absently turning the silver bracelet that hung from her slim wrist; around and around and around...

She didn't notice Logan had come up behind her until his assured hands wrapped around her arms and his mouth touched to her cheek. "You okay darlin'?" Those tough hands slid down her arms as he enveloped her completely, strong, tender.

"Yes of course." She bowed her head and planted a kiss upon his arm as it held her. "Why?"

"You jus' seem---I dunno---a little out of sorts still. Like you've been in a dream world all day."

Ororo said nothing, letting her head rest back against him as he nestled his chin onto her shoulder. She closed her eyes, let herself drift. Cascades of white water running swiftly to bubble and boil below. Cool swathes running over her palm like iced fire...

"Ro?"

"What?" She snapped a little harshly as she broke from the visions that swam through her head---the tone completely unlike her. Leaning forwards she broke from his arms and moved closer to the window, resting her elbows on the wide sill as she tucked her feet underneath her body.

"Hey beautiful," Logan said with slight confusion in his voice as he moved to sit next to her on the window seat, "What's the matter? This ain't like you." Nothing had been like her today---being absent-minded, distracted and now testy too.

"Look, I just have---a headache, that's all." It wasn't exactly the truth, but her head had been feeling sort of...muggy, fuzzy all day now that she thought about it.

"You should have said somethin'."

"It's only a headache Logan."

Logan looked over at her, about to say something and then thought better of it as he turned his gaze down to his hands, brought together just between his knees. But finally he turned back to her. "Has this got anythin' t' do with this mornin'?"

"What?" Her head veered quickly in his direction. "What do you mean?"

He furrowed his brow, "You were talkin' t' someone this mornin'---I know you were. I heard voices before I got to you, I'm sure of it. Two voices."

"Well if you will go sneaking up on---."

"I wasn't sneakin' up on anyone 'Ro." He interrupted, matching her for irritation. As she stood up and left the window seat, he asked again, "Who was it? Who were you talkin' to?"

Ororo walked to the other side of the sofa and paced back and forth a few times but made sure that her back faced him. "It was nobody." She found herself insisting but even as the words left her lips she was wondering why. Why couldn't she just tell him? She'd done nothing wrong. The white water crashed.

"Yer lyin' t' me darlin'," He got up from the window seat too and strode purposefully over to her; walking around the other side of her so that she had no choice but to face him. "I can smell it on you." Like the sharp slam of a door, the realisation hit Logan full on. Scent. There had been nobodies scent but Ororo's in that glen where the waterfall was. There had not been a secondary scent on her either; her hair, her clothes. When they'd spoken to him, yesterday evening, there had been no scent on him...at all. He'd been having difficulty pin-pointing what had made him so uneasy. Now that pin was well and truly pointed. "You were talkin' t' that guy weren't you? That guy we met on the road from the village."

"So what if I was?" She replied, incredulous. "Am I forbidden from conversing with other people---other men---unless you are with me?"

"No, I'm not sayin' that at all." He said as he crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant manner, practically talking through gritted teeth by now. "I just wanna know why you felt the need t' lie. Why?"

Severe eyes held hers as the wind whipped. She was up on that hill again..."I...I don't know." She almost whispered; the muggy feeling in her head became worse as she brought her hand up to her forehead. It felt like her skull had been stuffed with cotton wool, unable to order her thoughts. All she did know was that she had to get out of here. A compulsion over took her---she had to leave this cottage or she'd retch, she felt certain. "I need some air." Her voice quivered.

"What?"

"I said, I need some air---I'm going for a walk." She went over to the coat and took her ankle-length cardigan from the rounded wooden hook.

"Fine." Logan ground out as he watched her with dark, hard eyes pulling on her cardigan and scooping her hair out of the back of the collar. His short patience was shot.

Without further word, Ororo left the cottage as the dark clouds that had been present earlier in the day began to draw in once more. But they were accompanied by the bellied growl of distant thunder as the sun began to set, lost behind the peeking hills of Mt An Teallach...

-TBC-


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter.5.

He walked out onto the muddy, uneven ground, the two buckets of scraps firmly in hand. The night was blissfully quiet and so still that the hungry agitated snorting of the pigs could be heard from inside the farmhouse. It was Morag that finally got tired of it and kicked Jude of the sofa and from his gormless gawping at the 'idiot box'. Not that he'd been paying any attention to it in all truth. It had been a mindless distraction, and not much of one at that. No matter how much he conspired to prevent it, his thoughts wondered back, back, back...

His khaki coloured Wellingtons made odd suction noises in the soft dirt, making him sink down past his ankles with each step he took. Coming around the corner tall of the hay barn, he plodded as quickly as he could to the pig sty that nestled by its side; a small white-stoned building with an open front and ramshackle slate roof in great need of repair. But money was scarce these days, vital restoration work often went unfinished, not by choice or laziness but by necessity.

"Hey up girls," he said with an unusual fondness; the type farmer's often have for their animals, above the people in their lives in most cases. The pigs honked and scrambled; all amassing as close as they could to the wooden fencing at the front of the sty.

Jude bent over the fence, randomly patting the bristly pig and black blotched swine with a large red weathered hand. Picking up one of the black plastic buckets he'd set down he tipped it up, spreading its contents liberally over the crowd that had gathered for the scraps of vegetables and near rancid meat. The sound of snuffling and munching soon filled the air as the pigs rooted down into their feast, only looking up briefly as more 'manner-from-heaven' rained down on them courtesy of the second big bucket.

He lent jovially against the fence as he watched his animals tucking in by the light of the moon. Relishing in such simple pleasures. But the peace was not to last for long. He knew that long before he asked, without looking away from the sty, "What are yae doin' here lass?"

Shirley stood sheepishly a few foot away from him, having come up to the farm along the woodland bridleway. It was fairly open and so she hadn't felt nervous using it. But now, she was nervous. More than nervous in fact. "Yae now why I'm here Jude."

"It's none of our business Shirley," he told her, still gazing down at his heard, reaching down again to pat one.

"I'm sorry but that's bollocks, an' yae know it!" she countered, her heart going ten to the dozen at speaking so boldly to her boss' husband, but at this point she quite frankly didn't care. This was important, too important to worry about such trivia.

"Alright," he sighed, exasperated, as he stepped down off the bottom plank of the fence and turned to the young girl, "say what yae've come tae say---an' then go."

The night had taken hold over the steep valleys and a deep but motionless cold settled in the inky dark. All was deathly quiet save for the cries and yelps of foxes, at first hearing a call of agony, and the odd coo of a night owl. The ambient reverberation that shackled Ororo's mind as she continued to walk had not given her a moment of peace since leaving the cottage. It wasn't a pain as such, more a...presence. One she could not account for nor place. The sensation had her in a trance, but one in which she was aware of everything around her and conscious to what she was doing. But it rendered her powerless to do anything about it. Her body felt compelled to go forwards in the darkness, drawn by a sound, a voice hidden beneath layers of foreground noise...

There was a slight cant in the ground and carefully she edged down it, unable to distinguish the ground by eye, simply allowing herself to be led forwards to a destination that was unknown to her. Yet she yearned for it...The latent bay of the gushing force guided Storm, body and soul to its sable place. He awaited her there...

The moist brush of leaves parted like the caress of long dead fingers trailed over her as she pushed through foliage and the roar rushed in to consume her. The waterfall crashed.

"Yae're finally here."

The voice brought her back from the brink, her senses finally regained. But at the same time she couldn't be sure whether or not she'd heard it; it was as faint as a whisper on the winds. The trance had been broken none-the-less.

"Whose there?" she called out into the dark space; the only light present emanating from the torrent of water in its never ending journey into the pool below.

"Should yae have t' ask?" The cold, pale figure emerged from the dark, shining against it; so pale as to be almost luminous.

"What have you done to me?" she asked immediately without thinking on it first, not sure why; feeling a little silly in fact, for having asked.

"'Done t' yae?'" Branloch sounded insulted, but soon dropped the act. "Why, I've done nothin', hen." He started to advance towards her in nothing more than a casual dawdle; hands deep in the pockets of his dapper long coat as it danced sweepingly about his ankles. "As far as I can see, yae're here of yer own free will."

He seemed so sincere, for a moment Ororo felt foolish, the entire notion that he had somehow enticed her to this spot utterly ridiculous. Now that she was thinking more clearly than she had all day, a kind of awkward embarrassment overcame her. "I'm---I'm sorry," she shook her head apologetically, "I haven't been feeling like myself for hours. I just..." She trailed off as if at a loss to justify her insane accusation, giving instead a perplexed shrug.

"There's no need," he smiled at her reassuringly, "Really."

As he spoke, the tall morose figure had started, gradually towards her again. But she only noticed this when the heel of her boot hit a rock and she almost lost her balance as a result of her backing away from him. For what reason, she could not fathom. "What's wrong Ororo, you seem...," he paused, mulling over his next choice, "...frightened."

For a moment she could have sworn he had taken some pleasure in uttering that final word; his pondering over its choice a little too gratuitous. It managed to steel her, baluster her mind frame. Thinking on it rationally for the first time she wondered if he were perhaps a mutant; some kind of mind manipulator similar to the Professor or Jean even. That was the one thing she hadn't thought on so far, but seemed the most obvious explanation for what was transpiring. Suddenly the subtle pique of disquiet that had overcome her settled down and she felt intrigued rather than concerned.

"I'm not frightened," she replied truthfully and wondered whether or not she should speak of what she wanted to. Then again, what was the worst that could happen? "But I am interested," she continued.

The ineffectual air faltered a little as he gazed at her, his green eyes almost sinking to an angry darkness. But it was so fleeting she thought perhaps she imaged it in the muted light of the waterfall. "Interested in what, my dear?" He still sounded charming enough, perhaps a tad false, but no more than the usual charmer.

"You'll probably laugh when I say," she started as a relaxed precursor, "but I'm sure you can't have failed to have heard the term---mutant."

He nodded, "I'm familiar with it---why?" He took another step closer, just one shy of officially invading Ororo's personal space; it was enough to make her a little uncomfortable again.

"Look, I won't beat about the bush," she stated matter-of-factly, "I've had experience with telepaths before, and I can tell when someone is exerting an external influence." When she was met with what she perceived to be a blank response, perhaps out of a sense of apprehension that was understandable to her, she pressed a little further. Subconsciously adopting the tone that she often used to address her students when they were struggling with accepting their gifts, she continued, "Branwell, I understand what you're going through," she smiled sympathetically, "believe me."

"Do you?" he replied somewhat stiffly.

He had not denied it so she presumed she had been correct in her presumption and felt it safe to impart to him, "Yes. Yes I do, because I'm one too---Logan and I, we're both mutants."

Strangely, she thought, that information appeared not to move Branloch one way or the other. He continued with his impassiveness, even moving back from Storm a little, which relived her. She felt the tenseness melt from her shoulders, having not even realised her body had become quite so pensive.

"What, if I may ask,---powers---do you possess?" he asked finally.

"My colleagues call me Storm, so that might give you a clue," she said with slight joviality to lighten the mood.

"Storm," he repeated her code name, suddenly looking like he was contemplating something, the concept of it maybe. "So you can manipulate the winds, the rains?" He tilted his head questioningly.

Ororo nodded, "And other things besides."

Branloch snorted a quiet laugh, but not in mocking or disbelief, "What an odd coincidence."

"What is?"

"I remember, as a young boy, being told that my Uncle, my Mother's brother," he clarified, "had an ability that was remarkably similar," he crocked an off-kilt smile, as if at a memory.

"Truly?" Ororo asked in genuine surprise; the idea that their could be someone else out their that shared her amazing ability was something she had never before considered. But if an ability like telepathy was something that manifested in fairly large numbers, then it should indeed follow that a power such as hers would not be unique.

"Yes," was all he offered.

"Then there is a history of mutation in your family?"

"No..." he thought for a moment, focusing into the middle distance before his sparkling eyes came back to Ororo, "not exactly."

Ororo shook her head, her brow creasing slightly, "I don't understand."

"He wasn't a mutant...and neither am I," he added.

"How can you be so sure?" He seemed to be so certain of the truth of what he'd said that it confused Ororo---what other explanation could there be for such phenomena?

"Trust me my dear, I know," he said with a confident smile that didn't in the least serve to warm his expression; it remained oddly hard, cold because of his startling complexion. He turned from her to look out over the glinting waterfall.

His perceived complacency suddenly annoyed Ororo, but she couldn't be sure why. Then it came to her... "If you are not a mutant, how can you explain your own mental powers," she took on a definite look of irritation, matching how she felt internally, as she added, "and why did you use them on me?" For any doubt had gone from her mind now, and his earlier denials to such actions not only seemed pointless, but duplicitous also.

Branloch turned away from the water again, "My powers---if that's what yae want tae call them---are not telepathy," he began to explain, appearing to ignore Storm's last question, "although, I will admit to a certain amount of...empathy. But I am no mutant."

"What then?" she insisted.

"Why don't I just show you?" he proposed, but in truth never intended to give her the option. He could smell it even now and taste it even more so. The heat she radiated towards him was as the sun to his icy skin; an intensity that could burn. He longed to feel its sear...

Ororo couldn't stop the veil from descending over her. She hadn't had much time to feel even the smallest amount of alarm about it before an odd sense of tranquillity overcame her, the last concrete thing she was aware of was seeing his pale form coming at a slow pace towards her, and then...There was a mixture of sensations, at once vague and vivid; nebulous yet intense. But through it all she became increasingly aware of a physical presence that held her; it was nowhere and everywhere until it reduced down slowly into a very real conclusion; an arm wrapped here, a hand trailing through her hair there, a torso pressed to hers...Suddenly in her minds eye she could see a clear image, one of eyes that shone like emeralds. But they began to change, slowly flooding from their edges into a sharp yellow with red running through them like the most delicate of blood vessels...The image should have shocked her but she felt nothing but a preternatural calm, an acceptance almost. The embrace became constricting but she didn't struggle against it as the eyes faded from her 'view', replaced by a placid sea of white that slowly darkened into the sky of the night. Her head was tilted back her eyes now open to the world around her, the lids half drawn back in their heaviness. Somewhere she knew what was transpiring, she knew it was wrong but could not react to it, for there was another place that welcomed it, wanted it and she was powerless to override that...

The hiss sounded as if it were somebody else's noise, echoing from down a long and distant tunnel. The fire that spread over the left side of her neck sent ripples through her entire body, a thunderous shudder that she couldn't control. And then there was the pain, a sharpness that was soon dowsed by a covering balm; rich, warm and fluid.

Her life was seeping like the water that ran close by...her life was seeping and there was nothing she could do...

Yes there was...

Storm had no idea of how much time had passed but she had come to be aware of everything, in one great lighten bolt of consciousness; being held in a 'lovers' clasp, his mouth pressed to her skin, his teeth embedded in her neck...! With a sudden blast of will over strength Ororo wrenched herself free from the man and stumbled backwards as she clasped her hand around the wound. Her palm was instantly covered; warm and sticky as the blood continued to flow. The shock had yet to set in and she reverted to pure instinct; eyes blinding white.

As the winds got up in the small nook, Branloch looked around in wonder; his pale face stained crimson around the mouth and chin from his feast and his eyes remained in their altered state, the condition she had imagined them. "Impressive," he almost seemed to snarl, his voice taking on an animalistic edge as he made to come towards her, struck by her display of power.

Ororo didn't respond immediately, desperately trying to concentrate her powers as she was. "You will regret this, you monster!" she threatened with all the sternness of her former goddess self, "keep your distance!" Sparks began to cry out from her, trailing from her hair, her eyes, eventually her entire body as she wrapped herself in a protective cloak of natural electricity.

It worked as an intimidating display, for he began to back away from her; his lips drawn back into a sneer of sorts but one that revelled in an odd kind of delight. She decided that it would no be there for long, determined that he would regret his actions; here and now...

Logan looked out of the front window of the cottage, craning his eyes upwards at the tempest that raged through the skies. It had started so suddenly, around twenty or so minutes ago, that he was in absolutely no doubt as to the cause; beginning in one small spot, only to spread from there like a rolling plume of firm smoke. Besides, when a storm was natural, he could sense it coming hours before hand; the electricity and static building up, stirring subtly every hair on his body, the heavy scent of the deluge about to come. This was most certainly not natural.

He paced from the window and then back again; how many times he'd repeated this futile journey he couldn't say but what he was sure of was that he'd been feeling like the biggest jackass in the world since Ororo had walked out. Their fight had been replaying over and over in his mind---it was their first. In eight months, not a crossed word, and then this. And on their first holiday too. He truly did feel like kicking himself. Perhaps he was just being an over zealous, over concerned or maybe just the classic irrationally jealous idiot, but then his thoughts turned to how strange she'd been acting, and then inevitably, to that man. And again, he scowled and his mind darkened, and the heat of annoyance he'd felt returned. Again and again, he toiled in this loop of guilt and then justification, keeping him from going out there and tracking her down to apologise. But as soon as this storm hit it put him on an entirely different track.

A reel of thunder rolled across the valley so violently that it rocked the cottage to its foundations, making all lose things on shelves and tables tinker against one another rapidly, but not quite fall. It was swiftly followed by an intense dazzling light that lit the entire room as if a photographer's flash bulb had burst into life. That was odd in itself; the lightening having proceeded and not preceded the thunder. If any more proof were needed that this was not Mother Natures doing, he thought to himself grimly.

He strode over to the coat stand and grabbed up his leather, throwing it on quickly. But abruptly he stopped, his ears twitching with a new noise; soft at first, extraordinarily faint beneath the racket of the growing storm. Someone was approaching the house he soon realised. It must be Ororo, he thought with some relief and then with some trepidation at the thought of her still clearly agitated state. An angry goddess remained a prospect he balked at handling.

He stood and waited as the footsteps came closer, but as they did he soon realised that there was something...not quite right about them. They were too heavy, too brisk. Without realising it, Logan adopted the semblance of an offensive posture; a creeping crouch, knees bent, just slightly, as if ready to pounce; his hands curling into cautious fists at his sides. It was then that he caught a scent, through the lashing rain and wind, and even through the thick wooden door. A feral grumble started in his throat; it was a scent he didn't recognise, and right now, that was enough to put him on edge.

*Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!* *Thump!*

The bangs that shook the door were muffled by the wind and as soon as they hit, Logan felt that familiar itch between his knuckles along with an inexplicable anger. Abruptly pulling out of his sunken posture he bounded the short distance to the door and yanked it open to be confronted by a tall broad man, flat cap making his face a black unknowable and a shot gun slung over his shoulder.

"Who the fuck are you?" The X-Man was not in the mood for formal pleasantries, especially when strangers presented themselves armed.

"Miller," the man said gruffly, making his discord apparent. "Jude Miller---an I'm here tae get your arse outta trouble so I'd appreciate a little bit o' courtesy."

Logan grinned for a moment, despite himself, at the notion that someone felt they needed to bail him out of trouble. Added to the fact that he didn't know what in the world this lunatic was talking about. "Get me outta trouble?" he laughed sharply.

"Aye," Jude replied before shoving past Logan and entering the cottage, "so yae'd best be grateful. I'm only here as a favour. If it were up to me I'd still be out home, warm in mae livin' room with mae feet up."

Logan managed to swallow down his indignation at the man simply entering 'his' domain, and slammed the door back shut before the puddle on the flagstones at the threshold got any larger. "A favour?" he asked, "Fer who?"

Miller's gaze was wondering around the cottage with definite interest, but none-the-less with a certain amount of familiarity that suggested he'd seen it before but had not been here for quite some time. "Young Shirley," he said as he eyed over the beams on the ceiling, eventually turning to Logan and clarifying, "the young lass from the café."

Logan nodded vaguely, his confusion growing but not more so than his irritation. But always at the back of his mind his worry for Ororo grew as the storm didn't appear to be subsiding, moreover, it was becoming wilder. "Right," he acknowledged distractedly as he glanced out of the window behind him, eager to get out there.

"I told her we should stay out of it but," he laughed fondly if not somewhat satirically, "she was worried---even came up tae the house after Morag had closed up an asked me tae come up here."

"Yeah, that's great," he said sarcastically, "but if you'd mind tellin' me what the fuck it is I should be so worried about?" he barked at the stranger, "then you can go an' sit in yer damn cosy livin' room to yer hearts content."

Millar took his time, not warmed one bit by Logan's attitude, regretting that he'd even bothered to come up here. Perching on the edge of the reading chair closest to him, he tipped back the peak of his cap a little, taking his eyes from its shade. "Yae wonna believe me," he told Logan wryly.

"Won't believe what?" Logan asked, his irritation boiling over by now. "Look, my girlfriend's out there somewhere, an I was just about ta go after her," he said flinging an arm behind him to point in the direction of the door, "so if you've got somethin' to tell me, spit it out!"

The look on the fair haired man's face changed swiftly, it dropped from its hard expression to something much more serious, if that were possible, with a glimmer of concern, "How long has she been out there lad?" he asked quickly.

"What is it to you?"

"Stop messin' aboot, an' tell me how long she's been gone?!" Miller stood up sharply, his gun swinging down to rattle off the high side of the chair.

"A couple of hours," Logan shrugged, "Why, what's goin' on?" he demanded more forcefully, only seconds away from releasing his lethal weapons, against his better judgment, he knew.

"Before dark?"

"Yes!" Enough with the stalling; Logan moved over to Miller so quickly that the man, who didn't particularly seem the shakeable type, almost gasped in surprise. Grasping up large fistfuls of his coat about his throat, the saturated rain water squelched out of them as his hands tightened their grip, he pinned him against one of the supportive beams, making the thick chunk of blackened wood shudder. Moving forwards, he pulled him eyeball to eyeball, "If you don't tell me what's goin' on in the next three seconds, I'll be more than happy ta introduce you to six little friends a'mine," he growled brusquely in a low tone.

Miller locked eyes with him unflinchingly, his mouth slowly shaping before he said the word..."Vampires."

Logan's brow creased and he didn't move for a moment, but eventually his mouth cracked into a grin and he laughed briefly. Letting go of the man's coat he took a couple of steps back, "Vampires?" he repeated with a raised eyebrow, before issuing his gruff, rather cold laugh again. "Are you fuckin' insane?"

The man made a jerking movement with his shoulders, straightening his coat back to how it was, "Look here," he began resentfully, "if I had it my way I'd'a left yae up here tae yer fate, an' believe me, I'm beginnin' tae wish I had. An' if yae choose no' tae believe me then that's yer look out mate. But what I'm tellin' yae is true. Like it or not." Both men reflexively looked up as another monstrously loud clap of thunder rocked the cottage, making the lights flicker out for just a moment.

"I haven't got time fer this," Logan said dismissively as he turned towards the door, "go tell yer fairy tales to some other schmuck."

"I've no doubt yae've already met him." Logan stopped in his tracks but didn't turn, that was until Miller added, "An I'm sure he's taken some interest in yae're lady-friend, am I right?"

Logan's scowl deepened, thoughts of that man, near Ororo, making his chest tighten with anger. He had no doubt that they were one and the same and perhaps, perhaps this was all making sense. But he couldn't entertain the idea and dismissed it immediately. The guy was insane. Vampires? But still, if this Branloch was some kind of threat, then he wanted to find Storm as soon as he could. "I'm goin' to find Ororo, an' I suggest you take a hike bub, or he won't be the only one in fer some serious hurtin' tonight."

"Branloch will be a lot harder tae take on than yae'd think," he warned, ignoring the threat, "An' he wonna be alone, not for long anyhow."

"Will you stop talkin' bullshit, 'cause I ain't listenin'!" Logan snapped, "I couldn't give a toss who or what this guy is. An' besides, 'Ro can pretty much take care of herself." As much as he wanted to believe that Ororo was fine the increasing virulence of the storm was telling him other wise, and he was itching to get out there, just to make sure. But he wouldn't believe this... he refused to believe a word of it.

She wasn't sure whether the bleeding had stopped but neither was she about to slow down and find out; her hand still clamped about her neck to staunch the flow. The nearly black stain ran down her front and over her shoulder, covering her hand and dying a section of her hair in its solid dark; not even the rains that she could not endeavour to cease could wash its viscous mark away. She floundered forwards, almost stumbling up the gravelled path that she vaguely recognised for a second, but couldn't be sure. Her only hope was that she had somehow managed to be close to the cottage. She couldn't be sure, she couldn't be sure...

He had vanished.

Before she had had the chance to fend him away, Branloch had simply vanished; disappeared amid a black fog into thin air. Everything had subsequently turned into the haze of a dream, a horrid nightmare, tinged with all the dubiety that goes along with it. Still, she could not bring herself to think that word...

It were as if she was outside herself now, she could imagine seeing herself scrambling through the thickets in desperate escape. Her mind skewed, she currently had very little sense of anything around her, only making her way blindly for somewhere, anywhere that took her further from that place. But the certain rational faculties that she managed to grasp to, like slippery eels betwixt her fingers, feared her loss of blood would lead to collapse, or worse; the almost certain onset of shock. Forcing herself to concentrate she soon realised that she was close, a sudden flush of recognition for her surroundings giving her focus. She struggled to make her winds take her...

"Let me come with yae---tae be on the safe-side."

"I don't need yer goddamn help," Logan spat back as he headed for the door once more and yanked it open. And it was fortunate that he still had a firm hold of the handle lest he would have been blown back into the room by the powerful blast of wind that forced its way past him; its strength and the accompanying rain knocking over several things within, including Miller. Though it was a good job he had fallen, as it prevented him from seeing the spectacle of the white haired weather witch descending in on a low wind as the tempest briefly became of hurricane force.

Logan's hazel eyes stared wildly at the sight, not caring one bit whether the stranger had seen the display of her powers or not. He was paralysed for a moment as he tried to take it all in; the sight of her crashing into the forecourt area, propelling forwards in an unstable run. But the one thing he noticed most keenly was the nasty great stain that soaked her clothes, skin and hair on the left side of her upper body. It was only his instant instinct to protect that stopped the snarling rage that threatened to surface.

"Logan..."

He rushed out of the door, somehow finding the strength to resist her winds that still pummelled him and the front of the house mercilessly. He couldn't say anything as he caught her in his arms, the air had already been knocked out of him and he was barely managing the difficult task of remaining upright. As soon as she fell into his arms, like a weight of stone, he was practically overcome by the sharp metalic scent, that tangy, salty scent of blood. He gathered himself together enough to heave her fully into his arms, sweeping her legs from the ground, and rush into the cottage with her. But every second that her blood assaulted his senses was another second that his feral side screamed for release. Louder and louder and louder...

Slamming the door back shut with a donkey-kick, he rushed over to the sofa, quickly laying her flat upon it. He tried to assess any damage, his eyes swiftly looking over every inch. She was a mess; her clothes soaked right through, clinging to her body, leaves and blades of grass clung there too. And the blood continued to come...

A shadow fell across her body as Jude Miller came to a stop just behind a kneeling Logan. "Now d'yae believe me?" he said, not smugly, but justified. He reached down and made to move the hair from covering her neck and the flow of blood, but his hand was roughly smacked away.

"Don't touch her!" Logan snarled; the look in his eyes as he glared up at the man enough for him to back away. He'd been confronted by plenty of wild animals in his time, more than enough to know when not to push it. He only fleetingly thought it strange that that would be the first thing to come into his mind when his eyes locked with Logan's; a wild animal---manic and purely feral.

No matter how irrational Logan's mind was becoming with overwhelming rage, he still resisted Miller's charges as absurd. This couldn't be what he claimed, it simply couldn't...He ventured a hand now, to where the other man had tried, pulling away the wet clump of marked hair that stuck to it. He wasn't aware that he was holding his breath pensively as he did this. But as her neck was revealed to him, he couldn't see anything. That was not the relief though; he could see nothing for one reason and one reason only. There was simply too much blood. He tried to wipe it away as carefully as he could, but to no avail, for more came in its place obscuring the flesh once more.

He didn't realise that Miller had moved away from him until his movement alerted him to the fact that he'd come back to his side, bearing a cloth. "Here," he said as he handed the white and yellow checked tea towel down to him, "press this to it."

Logan did as he was instructed; balling the material up and pressing it as hard as he dared to where the blood stemmed from. It was all they could do; they couldn't tourniquet the wound for obvious reasons. All they could do was press the cloth to it and hope. The storm began to fade outside; only Logan appreciating its significance and consequently not sure as to whether that was a good or a bad thing.

"Yae'd be best tae move her up stairs," Jude suggested as he wearily rubbed a hand over his chin, desperately trying to ignore the fact that it was shaking. He must have been insane to have come here. Absolutely insane. To risk his own neck for strangers? Madness. But in his heart he knew it was time, he knew that this had to end.

Logan didn't argue at his suggestion; quickly letting go of the cloth and sliding his arms beneath her body. He took her weight, which seemed to have become even denser than before, against him and made for the stairs, surmounting them speedily. Miller was not far behind.

Logan lay Ororo down on their bed and eased her wet cardigan off, casting it aside. She had long since lapsed into unconsciousness and as a result the weather had returned to its neat flatness that it had formally held. No evidence of the storm remained in the sky, only the wet on the ground.

"Yae know," Jude said after a time of silence, watching as Logan tended to her, "he'll be back for her." He paused again, noticing how still Logan had become, a tense posture in his back. He wasn't sure how his next words would go down with this man that he barely knew, but had gleaned enough about to know he was easily provoked. He spoke them anyway. "He very rarely leaves them alive. And when he does, it's only fer one reason."

That was the final straw.

Logan jumped to his feet and bolted to the door. He could not contain it any longer. If all good-will-out then so would bad. He raced down the stairs with the other man calling after him, "Yae dunna know what yae're up against!" But he ignored him, thinking, in his own ineffable confidence, that neither did Branloch.

Jude was left there, torn; did he stay here, or did he go and help Logan? There was really only one choice. Nobody could stand up to that fiend alone. No matter how convinced that person was that it could be otherwise. People had tried...and lost, too many times for him to recall. He looked down at the woman, Ororo he had called her, lying there in a deathly pallor, in spite of her dark tone; the death mask told on everybody, the world over. But this wouldn't be death...it would be far worse.

The clang of the front door being flung open snapped him from thought and he knew what he had to do. If they didn't go after him, and the rest, then she'd be doomed anyway. He left the room and started or the stairs, bringing his shot gun around to the front and cocking it with a loud clack as he went.

-TBC-


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter.6.

There was still no scent for him to follow but he had to continue. He relied on his other senses now, not smell which was his acutest like it is for everyone but more so for him; his sight, his hearing, even falling back on his natural ability as a tracker, tracing steps...anything. But in order to do the latter, he had to stay calm, to stay rational; a task he was rapidly admitting was a lost cause. He had dropped into a mid-paced run now, after spending the first fifteen minutes at break-neck speed. Jude Miller was certainly thankful, not being blessed with any extraordinary gifts as he was, his body would not have allowed him to keep up with his former pace.

For a second Logan stopped, tilting his head back to sniff at the air that still held a dampness from the impromptu storm of earlier, that unmistakeable clammy heaviness of recent rain; the static electricity in the air still had his senses in their grip, making his task doubly difficult. It hung about him like sticky cobwebs he could not simply brush away.

Jude looked at him with a kind of confusion, but was too preoccupied with his own fatigue to really question him; half bent as he was, leaning on his knees. For a moment, for that one blissful instant, it managed to override his growing sense of fear; the type of acrid fear that left a nasty, bitter taste in one's mouth. He swallowed hard, hoping that fear-tinged saliva would wash away...but it returned quickly vile and twice as acute. "Yae know," he panted still, "he won't be found unless he wants tae be."

"I wouldn't bet in that bub," Logan growled lowly—his voice somewhere between man and animal. He moved in stiff quick jerks as he continued to scent the air, just like a blood-hound searching for the tell-tale stench of a fox on the hunt...

It was no good; Jude simply had to ask... "What're yae doin'?"

Logan ignored him, his devilishly focused eyes scanning out into the night; he had reverted to working on pure instinct, willing the Wolverine from its dark slumber in his deepest, blackest parts And then...there he had it; blood. Ororo's blood. And now his was taken from its growing simmer into a furious boil...

"Where are yae goin' now man?!" Jude bellowed as Logan suddenly darted toward the open field at the side of the narrow path. He did nothing but watch for a moment as Logan fairly leapt over the wooden boundary fence with the grace of a prize stallion and burst out at full pelt once more across the long pale green new-growth grass. Again, he had no opportunity but to follow, wading his way across the pasture land with much greater difficulty than the former.

Dark eyes peeled open slowly, the loamy room nothing more than an indistinct haze. Her vision spilt, appeared to shimmer briefly before coming into some semblance of sharp focus. But still, her entire being felt numb; she felt herself a disembodied mind. What on earth just happened? She questioned herself as she stared up at the unfamiliar white ceiling with black beams tracing across it, rather lower than ceilings she was used to at the mansion, caught by the brightness of the moon that streamed through the uncovered window behind her on the left hand side. She murmured groggily, not even being conscious of where exactly she currently found herself as she attempted to move but nothing came of it. The frustration built within her as bits and pieces came back to her; a cottage...somewhere in Scotland...with...Where was Logan? At the sharp intrusive thought she had the automatic urge to bolt upright though her body would allow no such action.

It was only then that physical feeling began to return to her, perhaps aggravated by her concern for Logan. But why concern? She couldn't remember a thing—but felt a twanging in her chest, the feeling of irrational gut-wrenching fear...The growing sensation of wetness from her clothes was making itself prominent now; that clammy dampness that was almost unbearable in its uncomfortable contact to the skin. Though her mind was soon taken from that with the dull ache that ran around her; slow at first, picking up gradual pace as it made itself known with all the subtly of being hit by a double-decker bus. But the neck...the neck hurt the most...

"Logan..." she called meekly, gaining the ability to move her body a little on the soft mattress; the sheets sticking to her chilly wet clothes. Every limb suffered from at least some tendril of pain, some sharp tweak as she shifted herself; having to wait a minute, bracing herself, before moving a little more. With some difficulty, accompanied by a soft weary moan, Ororo got herself up into a sitting position, resting on the flat palms of her hands, and scanned the empty room. It was as silent as the grave and just as still. "Logan?" she tried again with more certainty, but she already knew that she would receive no answer.

Leaning forwards she edged her legs off the side of the bed, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy thump, as though she had bricks in both her shoes. And again it brought her mind back to what the hell was going on here. She was in the bed, not just fully clothed but soaking wet too. Why would Logan have put her into the bed in such a state? Why had he left her alone like this...? Alone...the sudden thought of that sent a cold shiver down her spine. She was alone here and that creeping tendril of an unknown dread caught about her heart once more. She thought of trying again to call him, hoping to hear the comforting gruffness of his voice in return. But there was no point...

With more than a measure of trepidation she attempted to push herself from the mattress like a bed-ridden patient taking their first steps in months, completely expecting to meet the floor up close and personal. To her mild surprise she did not; somehow managing to stay upright and relatively balanced. Although the relief at that was somewhat tempered by the fact that her various aches and pains were becoming more insistent by the second. She took her first few steps with not undue care, inching forwards. Her first thought before she even attempted to fathom any of this was to get out of these clothes. Becoming more sure on her feet with each step she made her way around the end of the bed, taking hold of the end post on the way around, just in case, and then over to the hefty wardrobe at its foot.

The one or two items of clothing they'd brought each for the short break were hung up there, at her insistence. Logan would have left them to crumple in the suitcase if he'd had his way. She took out some jeans and a plain white shirt, letting the door fall shut of its own accord. Laying them momentarily over the brass bedstead she began to take off her sopping clothes; still so saturated they dripped once or twice onto the floor boards. She had shrugged out of her long cardigan and taken the ankle-length and now extraordinarily heavy skirt off; it plopped down to the ground heavily in indication of its new weight. As she began to remove her top it was only by chance that she glanced at the full length mirror on the wall to her left. She instantly stiffened, her hands rigidly holding onto the hem of her top....The large dark patch that stained the light material was unmistakable in what it consisted of. Even in the poor light the fact that it was blood was a certainty...Her neck throbbed even more on the sight of it...With sudden urgency her hands desisted in the reluctance, ripping the stretchy top as she yanked it off and threw it as far from her as she could. Swiftly she grabbed the fresh clothes; the simple task of putting them on hindered by the shaking of her hands; true tremors, the like of which she'd never experienced before.

What happened? What, by the Goddess and the Bright Lady too, had happened...

...The eyes...that toxic green made sallow, the blood pooling at their rims...

Ororo clenched her own orbs shut tight, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the unwelcome thought. Thought or memory?...But her mind was still unclear, smeared with a virtual Vaseline, a thin layer that prevented her from accessing them, if that image was indeed a memory. It only made her current confusion and growing anger at her inability to recall all the stronger.

She made to move towards the door and see if perhaps Logan had left her a note but an unexpected wave over dizziness over took her and she staggered backwards into the central space of the room. With increasing breaths the panic rose; the pervious ache developing into something more sinister. A scrambling fire raced up through her veins. The burn had started...

"Huh!" Her back hit the wall at the other side of the room without her realising that she'd been reeling backwards so drastically. She slid quickly down it, dropping to the ground in an ungainly heap, "Oh Goddess..." she panted as she opened her eyes finally, gazing wildly around the room though her lids still felt low and heavy. Her hand flew up to her neck; sensitive finger tips grazing across the skin, discovering two small lumps, an equal distance apart from each other...

...His lips against her skin...icy breath...the hard *pop* of the puncture...the sting of cut skin...a searing fire...the warm seeping...sucking. "Oh Goddess..."

He was close, so close now that Ororo's blood on him, this…creature…was all Logan could make sense of. Ororo's blood...on that bastard. All thoughts of what Jude had told him had long been lost, it wouldn't have mattered if the man had been the Devil himself, Logan was taking him down tonight...whatever may come. The pure concentration on that single task heightened his senses ten-fold; the animal inside guiding every move. They had passed through several fields and just come through onto the path again in half the time---whereon Logan jerked to a sudden stop.

It was so pungent that everything seemed to be tainted with it...

Logan walked slowly out into the middle of the dark country lane, vaguely recognising it as the one that led into the village. But that was furthest from his mind...Jude struggled over the fence behind him, his gun swinging around to his front as he tried to surmount it, making for a more cumbersome task. Finally over it, the stolid Scotsman tripped quickly down the short incline coming to a stop close by Logan. He could feel it...even he. Something was about to happen. Like a perfunctory gesture, every bit as instinctive as Logan's reactions, Jude took hold of his double-barrelled shot-gun with two steady hands. He brought it into a comfortable position, slung low and diagonally across his mid-riff, ready to be cocked to the shoulder if needs be. And he was sure they would...

"He's here," Logan growled, deceptively low in his throat, but before Jude had the chance to question him, his heart leapt into his mouth as the sharp sound of knives being unsheathed rang out into the still night sky.

Jude glared in shock, awe and most prominently fear as he witnessed the six razor sharp points rigidly protruding from in between Logan's knuckles; thin traces of blood dripping down to the ground. But he soon noticed that even the raw red around the six thin slits had quickly returned to a perfectly normal pinkie colour. He would have gasped if he'd have had it in him to.

"Sweet Jesus!" he whispered after he'd recovered enough to rediscover his voice; his wide eyes still fixed on the glinting blades, one hand coming unconsciously from his gun to gesture a quick cross from head, chest, shoulder to shoulder; a dim remembrance of childhood ritual.

The course voice distracted Logan for a moment, making him turn his head to his companion; his dark eyes evincing nothing but their latent anger, "What?" he asked gruffly.

Jude gave a short slow shake of his head, his face creased more with confusion now than the former trepidation, "What...what in the name of all that's holy are yae?" Both hands were back on his weapon now; maybe Branloch wasn't the only danger here, he couldn't help but think to himself.

"What does it look like bub?" Logan shot back with growing irritation; he didn't have time for this. He could hear movement up ahead, he was coming towards them, or something was...at least that's what his ears were telling him, but he was quickly realising that his senses weren't going to be the most reliable thing against this guy, whatever he was.

Jude finally managed to tear his eyes from the claw-esque knives and fixed with Logan's; they looked as black as night beneath his dangerously furrowed brow, "Yae're a mutant aren't yae?" he asked rhetorically, "...like those freaks up at Muir---." He hadn't meant to say it but he couldn't stop himself.

"Hey bub," Logan countered, "you live in a village over-lorded by a goddamn vampire—I don't think you've got room to be picky about yer allies." He said it, but he still couldn't believe it...but what other explanation could be offered...? It didn't matter; all he wanted was to see the son-of-a-bitch on the end of his claws like a pig ready for the spit.

Jude remained tight-lipped and silent, feeling more than ever that he was in the middle of something that simply didn't concern him. If only he'd listened to his gut instincts and stuck to his guns. If Shirley was so bloody concerned then it should have been her up here, risking her neck, for a couple of mutants of all things. But then, how long could they go on living with him like some nasty black cumulus hanging over every minute of their lives? It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Maybe if any one was going to help rid them of this scourge, then perhaps it would be these mutants. What other options were there left?

From the corner of his eye Logan suddenly caught sight of a dark mass in the sky, like a cloud of the previous storm, but with something unnaturally dense about it. He emitted a feral growl, fighting enough to stop from bearing his teeth back like an angry dog, but he knew he was at the end of his tether...It would not be denied for long.

"What is that?" Jude said to himself, his grip now so tight on his gun that it began to shake, ever-so-slightly.

The black mass swirled down as if caught on a wind that did not exist; dropping down and being lost against the silhouette of the trees before them until it became visible once more on the path up ahead. It looked more like a plume now, insubstantial but still somehow heavy, forty yards in front of them. And then the most amazing light...exploding from it...there he stood. As bright as life...

Logan roared; he bolted forwards...

Jude was frozen where he was for a moment, shocked at Logan's brashness as with nothing more than those unnatural knives he charged head long towards the stony-faced pallid figure of Branloch, who didn't even flinch; like some kind of living sculpture. He wasn't sure he could watch, but similarly could not take his eyes from the scene as it unfolded before him. He gawped with his gun now ready and cocked with a loud loading clack, as Logan thrust forwards both of his hands, driving all six claws into Branloch's chest, dead centre.

It all happened in the blink of an eye...the mutant was then suddenly flung backwards with unbelievable force; crashing to the ground, roughly where he'd started from, close to his feet. Jude spared a quick glance down at him; he wasn't unconscious as he'd expected him to be but he was certainly a little worse for wear.

He took his attention back to Branloch, who hadn't moved from where he was, still regarding the men with almost patient eyes, but they were the like of which he hoped he would never see again after the last time...the screaming fire of yellow, the swirl of liquid blood...He felt his stomach drop into his boots, an overwhelming numbing paralysis in his legs, making them rooted like tree trunks.

"Miller," he said simply, with all the Beast in his voice, the sneer twisting his mouth with natural malice.

There was no going back now, he wouldn't run. No, not again...His hands became possessed with their own determination as he brought his shot-gun higher again, squeezing one eye shut, its head perfectly in the sights of the crossed target...With one determined press he pulled the trigger....

With an explosion of liquid blackness, he witnessed through the small target atop of his weapon the Laird pitch backwards, falling with a heavy thump to the ground. But there was no satisfaction in that. He knew it wasn't over, not by a long shot, the dread worsened with the anticipation of reprisal. After all he'd witnessed, those years ago...he had no hope that it would be so simple, so clean cut.

Logan pushed himself up onto his elbows, cricking his neck this way then that as he did a mental check of his body; something felt out of place but he couldn't be sure what. The force with which Branloch had backhanded him and the crash landing had temporarily robbed him of all sensation. The next thing he'd been aware of was the thunderous noise of gun fire. He looked over to where Branloch lay; half the contents of his head spewed out behind him in a thick treacle on the ground. Well, whatever he was, it hadn't been quite the tussle he'd expected. He'd even go so far as to say he felt a little disappointed that it had ended so swiftly. More-so that he hadn't been the one to finish him off.

"What were ya sayin' about this guy bein' tough?" Logan half-scoffed as he tried to stand up, but fell back to the ground as he realised that his right knee cap had come completely out of its joint. "Damn it," he grumbled to himself as he took hold of it with both hands and with gritted teeth shifted it with a hard movement several inches to the left and back to where it should have been. It hurt like a bitch, but he managed to get through it with nothing more than a slightly sharp intake of breath, like he'd only had to remove a splintered rammed down a cuticle. Finally he was able to get to his feet, keeping his constantly angry look on the sprawled body flat on the floor. "Fucker," he mumbled, thinking darkly about dismembering the body...for nothing more than the satisfaction of doing so. But he soon pushed away such macabre leanings.

"It's not over..."

"What?" Logan turned to Jude, "You just blew the bastards brains to kingdom come. I don't think he's gonna be gettin' up anytime soon." Hell, I don't think even I'd be walkin' away after that, he thought to himself, but said nothing. The man already thought he was a freak; he didn't need to add to his presumptions.

"You don't understand," Jude continued in a quiet, grave timbre, "this isn't over...I've seen...things," finally he took his eyes from the figure, fixing Logan determinedly, "...things yae wouldn'a believe."

Logan snorted humourless laughter, "I wouldn't bet on it bub, you've no idea the shit I've seen---." His words stopped sharply as he appeared to lose focus into the middle distance.

The bitter taste of fear flooded back into Jude's mouth with renewed vehemence, "What is it?" he ventured but didn't think he wanted an answer; the look on Logan's face was not an encouraging one. "We should get out of here," he said quickly, starting to turn, "Yae should get back tae the cottage, get yer woman an' leave—now if yae know what's good fer yae."

But Logan didn't appear to register a word of what he'd just said, instead he was concentrating on something that only he could hear; it was so low range sonar that he doubted that even dogs would have picked it up, but it was there...It slowly dawned on him what it was as snapping leathery flaps filled the air, tearing through the trees with ferocious pace. His eyes widened as he saw the swarm rushing towards them, its squealing enough to cause an extreme pain on his sensitive ear drums. Automatically he ducked, grabbing Jude on his way down to the ground, flat on his stomach, as over head the black tittering mass swooped by. Hundreds of them, at least; bats...Logan quickly looked behind to see them doing a U-turn against the cloudless navy sky, swooping back like a squadron of bombers, coming in for the second wave of attacks. But just as Logan unsheathed his claws once more, ready to slash wildly at anything that came within his vicinity, for all the good it would do him against such a target, they instead purposely flew out of arms reach, back towards the direction they'd come from.

"I told yae!" Jude roared, the anger just enough to cover how utterly scared he was by this point as he scrambled back to his feet, "This isn't over! HE isn't over!"

Logan joined him on his feet, claws sliding back, for now, as they both witnessed the most awesome and bizarre of sights. The bats had gathered into groups about the body of Branloch, several separate balls, forming much like that which had heralded the Lairds arrival.

"I told yae..."

Logan heard him gasp again as he truly couldn't believe his eyes at what was starting to happen; the black clouds moulding into definite forms, taking on humanoid shapes...human bodies...

"What the fuck?!" Now he really was confused, and begrudgingly, he was beginning to realise that perhaps Jude had been telling the truth the whole time...no, no, he couldn't accept that...But what else could explain what he was seeing?

Then?...The unfolding coup-de-grace, as 'Lazarus' arose...Branloch came up from the ground as if levitated, straight as a poker, and as far as Logan could tell, still with that gaping hole at the back of his head; the one at the front, an oozing black hole, certainly remained where the two bullets had entered the centre of the forehead. The tight, smooth features of his face remained more-or-less unaffected, an expressionless pallor still characterised it. It was just stained with abstract marks from the wound; the wound that may-as-well have not been there. And as all other revelations came into fruition Logan was reminded of what Jude had said as he'd been about to leave the cottage first time to search for Ororo before absolute insanity had erupted... #...an' he wonna be alone either...# And he was right...

All around the man clad in black stood several...forms, which could barely be described as human, or as anything else. They were people...but of what genesis one couldn't say. If he could have thought of a more appropriate word for them he would have, but only one came to mind as he looked upon them...zombies. He looked questioningly at Jude, only to notice his face drained of blood even more so than before, if that were possible, and his mouth now stood slightly agape. A soft word, barely audible even to Logan seemed to escape from the open orifice rather than be deliberately spoken...

"Chrissie..."

Logan looked to where his eyes were fixed; a figure at Branloch's right shoulder, patches of bedraggled red hair sprouting with a certain randomness from a pale, raw scalp, its clothes in rags, hanging from an emaciated body. And as his eye tracked slowly across them, he noted the similar appearance of all of them—bodies with the look of corpses long drown, decaying as they stood, their bone structure painfully visible through translucent skin. But what transfixed him the most were the orbs; eyes of a dull red swirled with blind patches of a slivery blue. "What the hell are they?" Logan had to ask, almost as if it were a requirement to do so.

"What do'yae think?" Jude retorted grimly, still gazing upon that one, the one he recognised... "They're what she'll become..."

Logan felt a wretch at this, a wretch of re-stoked anger as he slowly sunk down, knees bent into his predatory position, "Not if I can help it bub."

SNIKT!!!

Wiping his hands back with release the feral X-Man raced forwards, at the same time the strangely mute Branloch motioned his arms forwards and with a speed that belied their appearance the...things, at his sides raced to meet him. Their mouths open, fangs clear in the moonlight that streamed down upon this unlikely scene. But the surrealism was far outweighed by Logan's sheer need to attack. And attack he did...

Slicing left, right and centre, Jude had never seen anything like it. Unlike the swift encounter with Branloch, it was not Logan who was made light work of, but them. He had witnessed people go up against them before, these minions, Branloch's living dead, but none had survived the encounters much less mowed them done with such precision. They may have looked weak, being no more than acolytes in truth, but as Mr. Logan there clearly showed with his own feral fighting skills, they too worked on a kind of instinct, driven by a mindless hunger. They both fought one another with a similar passion. But they seemed to learn that their foe was not the usual human fodder...

The first two had been easy for Logan, two quick decapitations and the bodies had been nothing more than dust in the air. But then the others came in, careful to avoid his lethal weaponry, but lunging for him every time he left them an opening to do so, but feinting away to avoid his wild attacks when the need arose. Not so simple after all. So far they had only been able to scratch at him in their own attacks; their claws, gnarly and jagged, not the calibre of his own by any stretch of the imagination but effective enough to take chunks from his skin and clothing with each uncontrolled swipe. They were like wild animals in a ring...

*BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!*

The shots were fired off regularly, followed by the quick snap back of cartridges being unloaded, dropping to the ground and new ones being put in their place; the air soon filled with the tangy scent of gun powder and the hot smell of their firing. On his periphery Logan saw the things, the 'zombies' go down as the shots hit—unlike their master, for want of a better word, they were quickly 'offed' by such assaults, dissipating as swiftly into nothing as the others had. But he soon found he could ill afford to pay attention to how Jude was coping as he felt the iron grip of two hands on his arm, part of his jacket sleeve having being ripped away in preparation to expose the flesh. They may have been easy to kill when one knew how to but they were still strong. One of them had hold of him, a crushing inescapable grip about his left forearm, arching its head back and issuing a snake like hiss as it threw its head forwards to plunge its fangs into the skin....As it came down though, it met not with the soft tissue of regenerative flesh, but with the pointed end of three claws; rammed into the wide open mouth, taking off the fangs on the way through, piercing the hard palette at the roof and emerging out of the back of the skull. This one had time to spew blood, giving Logan a generous covering, even letting out a strangled cry, of male or female origin he could not tell and certainly not by its grotesque appearance, before it too went the way of the others.

Now Logan only had one thing in his sights and nothing between him and it. He quickly ran his forearm over his face as he strode determinedly over to him, wiping off the thick splatter of blood before it got in his eyes or dripped into his mouth. The firing was still going on behind him, random shots now. He even thought he caught a panicked shout for his help but he couldn't be sure in the myriad of cries and squeals these monsters made, and frankly he didn't care either. Only Branloch was in his sights now, the mark on his head being considerably smaller than it was moments ago. So the man...or whatever he was, was a healer?

Branloch's thin tight lips creaked up into a smile as Logan approached for round two and all the while he wondered what other delights this mutant had in store for him, what other secrets other than these unusual but extremely affective knives. The woman's powers would be useful enough, but what quarry had he here? He took a step forwards as Logan lunged at him, his arm straight out and hand stretched ready for the grasp and with minimum effort he did just that; had him gripped tight by the throat. Branloch watched him carefully as Logan let out a spluttered choke in stunted rage at being caught so easily. He began to struggle against his hold so he simply squeezed tighter, resisting the laugh that threatened at the mutant's look of bewilderment as slowly he began to lift the two hundred and fifty plus adamantium laced man from the ground with apparent ease.

"Metal..." he said ponderously as he continued to lift him higher, eyeing the claws that remained free from their housings, the blood and gore that had stained them slipping off so easily it was as if they were greased, leaving nothing but the pure reflective surface in their wake. "Fascinating," he said in a course whisper, the change in his voice remarkable, "And I wonder what other secrets yae have, eh?" By now Logan's feet were clean off the floor by at least five inches, kicking pointlessly at thin air in reflex, his hands gripped tightly about Branloch's wrist.

Suddenly Branloch's sallow orbs flickered with interest to Logan's jaw. His eyes tracked them as best he could but he was finding it increasingly difficult to breath and his head was becoming light, his consciousness hazy as air became sparser and sparser...It even made him wonder for a moment whether a healing factor could compensate for lack of oxygen. He seriously doubted it...He felt Branloch draw a long finger lazily over the bottom of his chin, the sting reminding him of the cut he'd sustained there that hadn't quite managed to heal. That fact alone alerted him to the fact that he must have lost a copious amount of blood, for that was the only time whereon healing was slowed down some. He watched in impotent fury as Branloch brought the blood laced finger up to his mouth, a lizard-like tongue flicking out and lapping it up with obvious relish. His strange eyes seemed to sparkle, his lips quiver, "Secrets indeed..."

"Fuck...you bub," Logan managed to croak out, renewing his struggle for freedom, jerking him weight around as much as he could, "I'm---no-ones...blood-bank." He gritted his teeth and with his fading strength brought his clenched fist up underneath the arm his was suspended from with as much force as he could. The forearm severed from the elbow like freshly cooked meat beneath a chef's carving knife as adamantium sliced with ease through bone, muscle and tissue, so much so that Logan barely felt the strain of the separation. Superhuman strength? Maybe...but he still cut as easily as the rest.

Logan fell to the ground with a thump, the hand and arm about his neck disappearing as his reddened face pouring with sweat and he held his throbbing neck, coughing desperately for breath. As for Branloch he reeled back with a horrendous howl, clutching to the stump of his arm that bled profusely.

"Heal from that--," he burst into another fit of coughing, hacking up thick glob of white phlegm trapped in his windpipe, "...you dumb fuck!" He managed to finish his insult after all.

The last thing Logan remembered was a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a roar and Branloch, mouth wide open bursting with that awful piercing noise, rushing towards him. He tried to get to his feet to move out of the way, or at least roll to the side but he was slammed by the blackness with a tremendous force. And every thing fell away...

It was quiet...too quiet. Then a fox cried, echoing across the hills and his hazel eyes flipped open with instant alertness. Blood and gun shots...his senses were assaulted with these familiar scents and nothing else as he jerked to sit upright, looking left and right at a scene that would not have looked out of place on a battle field save for that while there was a copious amount of blood to paint the dirt red there were no bodies to accompany it. Well, not until...He turned around, pushing himself to his feet as he went. He stopped short, confronted by what he could only describe as scattered remains, but there was still enough there to recognise the man they once were. He grimaced at the sight---he'd seen a lot of death in his life, the type of death most people couldn't even imagine in their worst nightmares, though that's what his consisted of most of the time, snippets of memories coming back....But he still had enough human reaction left in him to be abhorred by total mutilation. And that was what was before him now; nothing else.

He moved past what was left of Jude Miller, stepping carefully around mauled lumps, looking back and forth down the lane. His whole body ached, though he was completely healed, the pains sometimes lasted a little longer than the wounds, especially when they were as deep as his had been. But there was only one thing on his mind now...

"Ororo..." Forsaking all else, he ran...

The old front door clattered open with such force it was a wonder the near five-hundred year old entrance didn't splinter to pieces. All the way here he'd tried to catch a scent, some sign that those things had passed this way but as earlier, there was nothing; not even the scent of their blood that had stained their battle ground so and covered his clothes. Beyond that he could detect hide nor hair of them and that irked him badly. They could be anywhere at any time. And if there was something Logan hated, it was surprises.

He halted in the still darkness of the living room; nothing but the echo of his boots on the grey flagstones and the familiar scents of the cottage; herbs, spent fires... He was sure, as sure as he could be in the circumstances, that there was nobody else in this cottage save for Ororo and him as he listened carefully. But that left him confused and more than a little suspicious—why would he have not come for her when he had the chance? For Logan had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for—it could possibly have been hours. But the one thing he was certain of was that Ororo was still here, her scent was still too strong for it to be mere remnants; that dusky sandalwood, intoxicating natural musk...

Without further dalliance he darted for the staircase, swinging around the banister and leaping onto them, aching inside to see if she was okay, only now berating himself that he'd left her alone. His boots pounded on the fragile wood...

-TBC-


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter.7.

The present...

...Ororo flung her head back, a sigh of satisfaction escaping against her will from her open red-stained mouth, a gaping wound. A large spot of crimson dripped from her bottom lip that shone with wet, quivering with every sated pant as she smoothed stray hairs back from her face, inadvertently streaking the pure white strands with blood...Logan's blood. She'd never felt such elation in her life than that of a pulse beneath her lips, a rapid heart beat, increasing her own. She never thought anything would be able to top that sensation of lightening coursing through her as if it were her own blood. But perhaps...perhaps the weather had met its match. She closed her eyes and moaned as her head tilted back, brushing her thumb along her lips, placing it on her tongue, tasting more. She moaned again, muffled against her mouth puckered around her thumb, drawing it out slowly, savouring every last flavour, every last sense of this feeling the blood gave her... The salt, tang, the rush of adrenaline of the ultimate elixir...time melted away, became a none entity in this new world opened up with all the light of eternal darkness...

"Oh Goddess...what...what am I...." As she finally opened her eyes, she looked down at Logan, laying there as she straddled him. He was pale, deathly so, and for a moment she feared he was dead. Slowly her satisfied hunger passed, though it remained knowledgeable at the periphery of her consciousness. Humanity sustained, she felt the clammy hand of panic gripping at her stomach and heart. Her breathing sped up in apprehension as her hand, shaking vigorously, reached down to touch him, scared of the cold pallor she expected to find. "Oh Goddess...Logan...please..." She laid her hand on his chest, closing her eyes for fear that the constant drum would be no more. There was nothing... "What have I done?" the frightful whisper of her voice cracked as the unreality of the situation crashed down upon her. Mind whirling she pulled back upon her haunches and stared about the shaded room wildly as if hoping for some answer, her eyes blurring hot with tears, confusion reigned. But through the pain, guilt and sheer bewilderment she cursed her self for her lack of control. After so many years of learning control...this thing...this thing inside her, that had become her had been to powerful to resist. Swiping at the fat drips with the back of her hand she dared to look down once more at Logan's body. Somehow it seemed paler than before, the moon's icy glow lighting his death mask—not a flicker of the eye nor movement of the chest.

The sudden silence of the room became overwhelming, only the growing fretfulness of the Windrider's shallow breaths. Her head dropping back like a heavy led weight as silent sobs began to rack her body. Despair clouded everything as black as night... What have I done? This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening...

In her utter dejection Ororo didn't feel the movement; the reflexive flinch of life restored. Her head bowed forwards, her thick white tendrils shaking down to mask her distort face. "Logan..." she sobbed long and low as she placed her hands back down on his chest, shaking her head in disbelief, involuntarily gripping at his blood-stained shirt. "Oh Logan...pleeeease—please don't leave me..." She didn't get the opportunity to register anything else before it happened, taking her completely by surprise....

"GrrrrrrARRRRGH!"

Hard blockage; her breath lodged safely in her windpipe and the three fine slices barely told of any direct pain, just the impact of his fist against her midriff hard, just beneath her breasts and lightening fast. Wild hazel eyes were unrecognisable to her who knew them so well. His face appeared a snarl, his white teeth bared under a drawn back lip as his drive refused to relent. The animal in control...Her back thrown against the wall beneath the window, her legs sprawled limply on the floor, Ororo could do nothing but look down at Logan's balled fist flush against her bent stomach, knowing but not feeling the three prongs of adamantium deep inside of her. A thick glob of blood spilled from her mouth as the internal bleeding rose into her chest cavity, eventually finding its way out. She watched it with frozen wonder as it dripped down onto her chest; a big rose stain blossomed. It crept across, up, down, soaking into the fibre...in all directions, reaching outwards. A long dark line dripped from the ledge of her breasts, splattering down onto his tension whitened fist as it remained stuck fast against her...

...He was aware of the tips of his claws scratching against something—the hard brick of an exterior wall. But he soon realised that they weren't scratching the gently crumbling material, but were embedded hard into it. His body suddenly skittered across the floor as he threw himself back, as far away from her as possible, landing hunched up at the other side of the room. He barely had time to think, to contemplate before the searing feeling took hold. It was all happening so fast, reality slewed, his handle on it gripping and slipping with equal measure. As the Wolverine faded another tide, one more forceful than the last came into being; a slow, burning, hunger...

"No..." he growled with the realisation that what had happened to Ororo was now happening to him. A kind of death...the type of death he'd experienced once before... He wasn't about to let it happen again...he was determined to have control. Even if it killed him for real... First it was the gut wrenching pain that livened his memory as he lurched forwards with a mournful groan, gripping at his midriff. The groan soon morphed into a determined anger, one that became all the more alive, all the more enthralling as in his sudden fit of writhing he flung his head back to catch sight of Ororo slumped against the wall; her chin rested on her chest, her stained and dishevelled snowy locks obscuring the rest of her face from his view. In a moment of clarity, articulate thought came to him with the presence of her. He stretched out his hand in vein hope to reach her from his balled position, "O-Ororo—GAH!" His arm snatched back in to join his other wrapped tight around his stomach. The sweat soaked him through, the ferocity of his blood, boiling, coursing; almost unbearable. He was sure not even the adamantium bonding process had felt so...And it was then. Then that he realised the cause of his suffering, why it was perhaps tenfold to what his beloved had experienced. He should have known, he should have guessed immediately...he'd gone through it enough before. For healing always felt infinitely worse than dying; the pain prolonged, the knowledge of the internal fight, fully conscious of his body's turmoil, he felt everything...everything. Blind. White. Hot. Force. Splayed flat on his back Logan could not contain the purely feral roar as the pain passed through the point of no return; animal hunger and his survival instinct clashing at full force. He'd been through this sensation before—he could describe it as nothing other than a...purge. Yes. This was most definitely worse than dying. Onto his hands and knees he forced himself, an awkward and ultimately futile attempt to stand came to an end when he felt the pit of his stomach lurch—he knew what was coming, but not the nature of it.

One exceedingly violent retch after another produced nothing; the dry heaves burning and straining his throat until he thought something would rupture. And then it came; dark, thick splatters, assaulting every sense as they went haywire. He expelled blood in wave after wave—his healing factors own unique way of dealing with the infection that jostled for supremacy in his system. Heave after heave produced more torrents of seemingly jet black liquid; ever sanguinary, almost endless. He felt empty, like there was nothing more of him self left to give after minutes stretched out into an eternity. Maybe death was closer at hand than he thought—simply in the combat of this...disease. But as suddenly as the expulsion had started so it ended; leaving him exhausted and coughing on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth and nose, spraying outwards with each weakened hack. It carried on coming in an unrepentant torrent, until slowly the tide began to stem, then simply the dripping became like a leaking tap after being tightened. He lay still for a moment, desperately trying to recover his strength as the pool he lay in soaked into the Oriental rug beneath his prone body, dying his clothes too.

Steady, hard breaths competed with the thunder of his heart as another wave of black unconsciousness threatened to take him. But whatever strength remained to him, whatever once of pure will he had left he fought it; moving his lead-weight forwards, dragging him self from the pool of his own blood, the diseased blood that his body had rejected. Every inch of him shook; trembling with the weakness of a new born calf as he began to drag him self across the room, leaving a nasty trail in his wake.

"O...Oro—," he burst into another coughing fit as his blurred and crossing vision attempted to attain some semblance of clarity in the moon light. He stopped dead, his head dipped as he fought for breaths between the fits. "Ororo..." he called out meekly as he finally caught a break, still breathless, but so close...As he reached her, Logan found it somewhere within him to push his body up, grabbing clumsily at Storm's top to pull her into his lap. "'Roro—babe, wake up—*gack!*--please 'Ro..." he whispered fervently, his voice weak. As he haltingly shifted up into a kneeling position he held her securely in his lap; one arm as strong as he could currently manage about her slim shoulders, his other reaching up; a wet hand cupped her face, unthinkingly smearing it.

She looked pale, shockingly pale; the blood from his hand tracing a contrasting tattoo across her smooth cheek. "You can't be..." he repeated the fearful phrase over and over to him self as he traced a thick trembling finger down her neck, searching for that place under the hard edge of the jaw line. There had to be a beat there, he prayed for the dull thump against his index finger as he placed it against her skin, as hard as he dared to. The reality of what he'd done began to hit him—the monster threatened a return...There was nothing, he could feel no rhythm. No pulse.

Whatever was she, was gone...

"Ororo..." Logan rocked her limp form in his arms, holding onto her with unimaginable tightness as he turned her body into his grief's embrace. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head as he crushed her to him, his hands tangled into her hair; gripping in despair. After years...years with no one near, nobody he would allow to get too close...she, only she...and now...For the first time in as long as he could remember Logan felt the warm caress of a salty trail run down his cheek; rare drops spilling over the brim. "'Ro..." the mournful call was muffled by her hair as he buried his face there, allowing the fading scents of everything that was her seep into him. He wanted to lose him self here and now; all that was him slipping into the abyss with her... "'Ro...no...no...no—NOOOOOO!" Throwing his head back he let out the most horrendous cry that soon morphed, twisted by the wounded soul of an animal that was cursed to feel a loss eternal; a savage howl wallowed in the sliver moonlight.

...He sat there, cradling her for god knows how long. It didn't matter any more. Nothing did. Slowly he stirred, at last conscious of the world around him once more. His strength restored, Logan attempted to stand up. He stumbled back a little as he righted him self; a core of weakness still there, but this had nothing to do with his physical essence. He could barely breathe; each was an effort of will, every beat of his heart a forced practice. Numbness ran through him as if his heart pumped ice rather than blood. The hard hazel of his eyes fixed straight ahead of him as he felt Ororo's lifeless weight slacken heavily in his arms; her head falling backwards against his robust forearm, her limbs hanging limply down as he moved over to the bed with slow almost shuffling steps. With reverence he laid her down carefully on the ruffled sheets of the bed. Kneeling down at her side, fairly collapsing down as his legs buckled beneath him he finally brought him self to look at her. He reached out with a trembling hand to touch the bloodied patch on her midriff; a coagulated crust had formed over the three neat gashes that ran clean through her body. His fingers ran over the rough surface as he averted his reddened eyes to her marked face.

She seemed so...peaceful. One would almost say content. But that did nothing to ease the pain that gripped him so. A pain that as he reached tentatively for her hair, stroking it, smoothing it down from her face, grew into something else—something like fire. The former fury rose in him; a slow yet eager tide and he did nothing to stop it—moreover willed it further to melt this ice and replace it with nothing but a desire. The desire to kill one man. And he knew...he knew as sure as anything that to give him self over to it now would let the inner fury win forever. From this, there would be no coming back. But he was ready, for to what purpose did he strive for humanity now...

One last look, one last kiss he gently laid on her—the cold of her skin, her rapidly cooling body wrenching his guts one more time. And vengeance was all he saw.

"Branloch!" The name was garbled through the Wolverine's mouth as he sprang to his feet with all his predator's alertness. And nothing of the man remained as with claws unleashed he slashed through the heavy wardrobe, chunks of old dark wood flying hither and thither, then straight through the door it had previously blocked with his one desire firmly set.

The Wolverine tore down the stairs, leaping over the banister halfway to land at the bottom, hunched on all fours, ready to attack. He sniffed at the air in the lifeless quiet of the dark cottage; a presence hit him immediately, several in fact. He felt it with only the tangible elements; smell, sound, movement. With a carnivore snarl, bloodlust demanded to be sated. He moved through the still space of the living room, quiet as a shadow, moving with instinct. Like following a string that was visible only to him, he progressed steadily through the back room, towards the back exit of the small dwelling; the rancid scent of death clear to him, coming closer and closer and closer...

The door smashed backwards, shattering against the outer wall as he sprang forth, claws extended, ready to hack into the first flesh to come near him. And with a satisfying rip, pure glinting adamantium sliced with ease through the encroaching ghoul. A putrid body soon made dust. This was the second wave it seemed, but no matter—the more to kill, the better he felt. All this would be the warm up for the main event. Keen eyes clocked the bodies advancing on the cottage; at least ten in all, not including the one made swift work of.

And so, the battle began...

They advanced on him in teams, Branloch's minions, flowing in through wave after wave; taking quick slashes at him before feinting away, only to come in again. They appeared savvier than their predecessors, something about them sharper, fully formed. Wolverine took hit after hit, leaving no time for the wounds to heal before others were inflicted. But he felt nothing...his rage was all that sustained him now. And it was plentiful enough to sustain him for ten lives over. With a bloody bay he set about them with the devastating fury of a murderous whirlwind; every movement lethal and precise, like things he'd learned that had been long forgotten only to return with the burgeoning of his baser instincts. And he revelled in it, growling pitilessly with each blow, with each death strike. But could one kill what was already dead? Death incarnate.

As he lunged forwards into the final wave, just three left, he plunged his claws dead centre into the chest of the ghoul before him. Pumping all his strength into his triceps, he roared viciously as he moved his hands upwards, slicing straight up through the thick set shoulders. But as the body began to evaporate into a black cloud as had all the others, Logan howled out suddenly. This time not in anger, but in pain as he'd left his back exposed to attack. The sharp bony fingers reached deep inside him, snaking past his rib cage from behind, searching for something vital to grip. His body arched backwards as his face contorted with the agony; paralysed in its clutches. He tried in vein to reach behind him but to no avail.

"GRRARGHHHHH!" The dead hand pushed further up his chest cavity violently. If he thought the pain had been unbearable before, then this was a new level of unbearable. His teeth were gritted together so tight by now as he tried to extricate him self it was a wonder they didn't crumble under the pressure. He had to do something, and he had to do it now—or this was it. As he saw the only other fiend left standing rushing towards him, arm raised, angling it back and ready to make the killer blow—it was now or never. With every once of power he had left, Logan heaved his body around, taking the ghoul attached to his back with him, letting it take the full force of the others attack. Its head flew briefly through the air after the neat decapitation before it too went the way of the others; its being dissipating into the growing blue of the pre-dawn hours.

The release of the excruciating pressure was a relief, but Logan's respite proved equally short lived as he found him self hurried through the air, smashing through brick and mortar, wooden frame and glass. He barely had time to orientate after his hard landing, crashing into the sofa, before his foe was upon him. Through a bestial growl of glee, Branloch's monstrosity grabbed a handful of Logan's hair and yanked him from the ground in order to clutch his neck with his free hand. Its talon-like nails spilt through the skin close to the X-Man's jugular easy enough, letting out a slim but steady stream. The ghoul looked him in the eye, full on—not the vacant dismembered minds of the others—this one hadn't quite got to that stage yet. Its awareness still spurred it on—the spark of what was once a human almost in tact. Almost.

Rolling it's head back in a near leisurely manner, it's jaw fell open revealing the decayed black of a rotten mouth—dripping, putrefying. Just the silver-fish gleam of the odd uneven fang-esque teeth broke through the dark gaping cave. Logan made to take a swing at it now that his back had stopped gushing—things still weren't right on the inside, but he had determined not to give sway to it.

"Where the fuck's your boss, meat bag," he growled, the ability for cognate speech not having totally deserted him just yet. But as his hand swiped around, the thing dodged the blow; flinging it's head back with an angry hiss before hurling Logan backwards across the room. He collided with the thick wooden top of the mantel, smashing all ornamentation that strewed its top; falling noisily in a pile of broken porcelain that littered the slated ground like snow. He groaned with irritation at the bite of the shards needling his flesh as he tried to right him self, struggling through the momentary daze of the impact. The outward injuries were nothing, vivid scratches and cuts melting away soon enough, but try as he might Logan could not right him self; the internal mischief done him earlier not as repaired as he might have thought or at least hoped. He tried again, struggled to right him self but an unyielding callous kick to the face saw him collapse back down; enough to destabilise him, enough for the unmitigated pain to run rife, unstoppable.

He shook his head to rid himself of the sprayed blood that had exploded from his busted nose, clots of it having flown up into his eyes; the hit he had sustained was so forceful. Whipping at the temporary blindness, he quickly realised that this latest wound was not healing at all; the entire of his body's resources still prioritised elsewhere, though his foe didn't seem to feel mercy for his now near helpless target. But just as Logan began to brace himself for the next onslaught, a strangle noise echoed through-out the room. He tried to discern its origin but the blight in to his vision continued to make everything before him nothing more than a blurred shadow. But the noise...the noise...it continued on, his out of whack hearing struggling to place it as it came to him in grabbled waves. It seemed to him an eternity before he made it out---the pained death-cry of an animal...

Lurching forwards, thick dark clots splattering the floor underneath him, Logan arched his head back as he rested on all fours and tried to struggle up into a kneeling position at best. But as he looked up into the splintered darkness he thought perhaps his eyes had decided to deceive him, or his unreliable mind; prolonging his torment his loss...

"You looked as if you could use some help."

Logan coughed violently, the sheer physicality of it knocking his balance but the nerve numbing shock too did not help. Just about managing to catch him self with an out-flung hand as he tipped unstably to his left, he righted himself, raising onto his knees, trying and failing to form words in his clogged throat; only pathetic splutters and gargles bubbled up from the depths of his chest. He continued to stare up at the figure before him, ignoring the stone heavy drop of the ghoul's body as it hit the ground, soon evaporating like the others. He couldn't blink, hazel eyes painfully wide, he could barely bring himself to breathe...But finally a word forced its way out of his mouth, just one, mangled in a growl, accompanied by a dark ooze spilling from his lips...

"Ororo...?"

-To Be Concluded-


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter.8.

... "Ororo?" ...

He tried again to blink the blur from his eyes; the dark blood smear mixed with the acid sting of sweat that made him think perhaps it was a mirage. Was she here with him, in this implausible hell? Or had he joined her? Every ounce of his being hoped and prayed that it was the latter...He just wanted peace. As if it were happening remote from him, Logan was aware of his body falling forwards, in slow motion. He waited, almost patiently for the expected impact with the rock solid ground, but found himself instead caught up against the malleable solidity of a body, her body...She was there...

"I'm here."

He heard her voice rasp faintly as his wet face became buried, pressed tight against her; his arms flinging up around her narrow waist and hips, his hands forming into tight, unforgiving fists at her back, clutching at her cotton top. "Ororo..." The thin, delicate tendrils of her fingers weaved down into his sticky, dishevelled locks, skimming the warm sensitive scalp beneath like shards of ice. Her touch conformed; he choked on a shallow breath as his heart fairly stopped before erupting back into painful, joyous vitality. His words now sounded equally choked, muffled as they were against her midriff, barely discernable, "I...I thought I'd lost you 'Ro." His body shuddered involuntarily, his hands grabbing more, ever more until there was a sound of a small tear. Slowly he inclined his head back, his eyes red rimmed raw, the simultaneous look of relief and unbearable sorrow looking so alien set upon his hard ridged features. He tired to make out her features, skirted either side as they were by red stained white curtains, making her face an almost black blanket, though he could just discern the gleam of her dark orbs, glittering strangely in her stillness, her mute comfort. "I thought I'd killed you..." He eventually confessed in a fragile whisper, not feeling the hot trail that ran over his cheek that still held the gashes sustained; his healing as slow as he'd ever known it. But he neither noticed nor cared.

Ororo tilted her head to the side; her hair falling back and allowing Logan to see for the first time her features in full, lit by the moonlight. A look of almost maternal pity on her face, distressed at such suffering, but through all that her love that shined through everything, and for him, made everything. He was blinded by that for a moment, not seeing the resigned pain that undercoated it all. Her thumb brushed away the salty track carefully, tentatively so as not to disturb his wounds.

"Logan," she said clearly as mountain air, "don't feel bad," she swallowed down hard, concentrating on the way her fingers made a parting through the treacly tufts, "...please...don't..."

He didn't take in her words or even attempt to unlock their meaning, he just listened. Listened...listened to a voice that he feared gone forever. Its steady melody, its comforting largo, "I thought I'd lost you..." he sighed again, this time letting the relief flood his tone as he let himself be lost in her again, resting his face against her, not even wincing when the pain from his back wound began to flood him with ever intense waves.

"In a way you have," Ororo said, stroking still at his hair, imploring Logan to look back up at her, not comprehending, "but you didn't kill me Logan. Don't ever feel bad about that."

"'Ro, what do'ya mean?" he asked with a shake of his head, his brow creased, "what're you talkin' about?"

Ororo closed her eyes, her mask slipping as her lips pursed and trembled. But she did not cry, she swallowed it back but still, she begged in sudden fragility, "Please don't make me do this." The prone plea sounded almost as if it were directed at some unseen agent, its name finally, mournfully uttered, "Goddess..."

"Do what 'Ro?" he blurted, his panic rising.

She cleared her throat loudly, still fighting the onslaught that threatened to tear down from her like the monsoons she could command at will. "You can not kill what is already dead, Logan," she told him crisply though reluctantly. His confusion only deepened to total bewilderment and Ororo's look of pity returned at his demeanour of loss; loss and torment...then denial. He began to shake his head, slowly at first, until it gained vigorous moment over a low murmured chorus of 'no's'. "Logan, listen to me," she caught his head between her hands and forced it to be still, the frantic voice too, "Listen to me—you know I am telling you the truth." Grabbing at his hand, having to forcibly remove one from its steel grip on her clothing she pressed it to her chest. "Feel," she told him sternly; where there should have been the pounding rhythm of sentience there was an empty hollow like an abandoned church. Where there should have been a radiating heat from the body's constant flow, there was only an icy cold like a lake thick with winter. Where there were once the pertinent scents of her being, the softness of vanilla, the earth-bound sandalwood, now there was nothing. He held her...he held her as if she was there, but she was not. He had been blinded to the aura of death. But it was there, like a thick linen shroud exactly.

Slowly, awkwardly, Logan raised himself to his feet, never leaving her eyes, those eyes that no matter what the body said still contained her...what was essentially Storm. He creased over suddenly, a furious anguish ripped through; whether it be from his body or mind he wasn't certain at first.

"Oh goddess, Logan!" Ororo held onto him, trying to stop him from falling back to the floor.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he said in a strained voice as he carefully righted himself once more, "It's not me I'm worried about right now."

Ororo looked away from him. It was too much to ask of him, too much... But as the heat pounded and the hunger rose once more she knew she had too, before it was too late. Quickly she grabbed at Logan's right wrist, folding his hand down into a fist as she did so. Then, quietly, deliberately, she placed that fist; cracked knuckles flush against her slender throat. "Do it," she commanded soberly. Though for all her abrupt limpidity she may well have been speaking in her native tongue, for he heard her words as garbled as if they had been Swahili. But still, implicitly he understood, the shock only delayed.

"What?"

"Do it." Firmly and rationally Ororo repeated, looking him steadfastly in the eye; no fear, no hesitance. She felt abstracted, in a circumstance that did not involve her; outside the window, looking through.

Finally the full punch of clarity came to him, its ridiculousness, its impossibility, "Are you out of your fuckin' mind?!"

"No Logan, I'm perfectly possessed of it...for now at least," she fell into a strained whisper, "but I'm not sure how much longer I can hold back...how much—longer—I can control it."

"'Ro..." he pleaded, trying to pull his hand from her neck but finding the strength of her resistance to much. Whether it be his weakness or her new found physical ability, he knew not—he remained powerless to pull away never-the-less. But now...now he understood her earlier plea. "Don't ask me to do this darlin'...I can't."

Ororo nearly crumbled; her throat thick, her eyes hot and beginning to sting. But all the while it grew again...it rose like the reaching licks of random spark fallen where it should not; grappling and hungry for more. It broke her heart entirely, but there was no other choice. "Logan, you have to do it, don't you see?" She reached out with her free hand, gently touching his face, her eyes imploring. "I'm one of them now."

"No," Logan growled sharply in response; his irrational impulses telling him that she could fight it if she really wanted to, that she was strong enough to do that. "No, I won't accept that. No, no, no..."

"You know it's true!" she yelled suddenly, "Logan—," her tone fell to a soft murmur, "you know it's true...you need to finish this for me, or do you want me to live in constant torment?"

Logan clenched his teeth, his jaw twitching under the strain as his knuckles continued to rub against her prone neck; ready and waiting to be slit through, taken clean off. "God 'Ro, you know I don't, but I can't do this, I can't...there's—there's gotta be another way."

"Well if you can think of one you be sure to tell me, won't you," she said with sardonic bitterness; knowing how much she was hurting him, making her pain all the worse. "But we both know there isn't," she whispered. "I can hear it you know, your heart pounding, your blood rushing and believe me—Goddess believe me...I'm trying, trying with all my strength to resist it but as each minute goes it gets harder and harder to. I don't know how much longer I can fight this and I don't want to hurt you again."

His mouth gapped and trembled, trying to form words he could not, only half-created, tumbling from his lips weakly, "Don...don't 'Ro...don't as-k...don't..."

"I am begging you Logan, don't let him win, don't let me live as one of those things—you need to finish this here and now. Avenge me if you wish, just finish this..." She could barely bring herself to continue to look at him as his face contorted with anger and anguish combined, starting to shake with the tension. One more push..."JUST DO IT!" Her eyes screwed shut, both hands gripping vice-like at his wrist now, waiting for the blow as an unholy roar rose from him; bestial and sorrowful, his soul ripping in two all over again. Her head filled with frantic prayers to the Goddess, to her ancestors...not for herself, but for him. She refuted fear, she faced her fate...detached.

"I CAN'T!" he exploded from his roar; a broken man, utterly broken.

"Good choice."

That cultivated, strained Scottish tone cut through the air, taking them both from their current predicament. They turned to the direction of the intrusion, Logan's fist finally dropping from its perilous, threatening place against Ororo's throat without the slightest protest from her. It was a truly distilled moment in time; they looked with disbelief at his abrupt presence, what was almost an encroachment, a certain sense of interruption from a private crisis.

He stood just past the first thick wooden post, between the kitchen and the living room. His thin, dark figure not given the least illumination, though the pallid wan complexion of his skin was enough to define his features; the hollowed low eyes, devious and triumphant. Below that was the thin pinched mouth, like a level footing below the cliff edges of his high, acute cheek bones. "After all," he demurred, though somewhat caustically, "what man could bring himself to slaughter the woman he loves?"

It was all that was needed. The spark that ignited the random pool of oil; the crass, urging words. All physical ailments were forgotten in an instant, the adrenaline pumping, masking the severe injury, perversely like it was never there in the first place. Rushing past a numb Ororo and leaping over the sofa, making it crash onto his back, his volcano hot face contorted with rage rather than the previous anguish; he overturned several items of furniture in a bid to get to his prize; vase and plates splintering, nesting tables skittering. Claws zipping out in a livid instant, he gave into the animal nature so swiftly once more, always teetering, never having fully receded from its surface presence. For now Logan had every reason; the object of his suddenly impotent anger, his agony, there in the flesh for him to vent against. He saw nothing unreasonable, indeed he saw no side of reason at all; though the strength of his anger did nothing to counteract the strength of his foe, his body not up to the task of compensating his fury.

Fending off the Wolverine's sluggish attack was like child's play for Branloch; the man even having the audacity to laugh as he deflected the wounded man with no more than an ultra quick flick of his wrist, so fast not even Logan's sharp senses saw it coming. Even at full physical strength, he may have faired the same, had faired the same, just an hour, maybe two ago. His body cracked up against the upturned sofa, limp and helpless, a completely foreign state. A state Ororo had only observed him in once before and that was on the night of his heroics at the Statue of Liberty and the days thereafter. She soon realised that it was the sucker punch, so to speak, whatever had happened to him before that she had not been there to witness, this was too much for his overloaded body to cope with.

As Ororo scrambled around, only moving after action that had happened so quickly she could not act upon it, she rushed to Logan's side. Fresh reams poured from him like rain rivulets down a window. A large congregation of vital fluid came instantaneously about him; his head slumped onto his chest, the blow looking fatal.

"Logan," Ororo called in almost unnatural calm, the type of calm born from feeling outside the moment, as if all this is not happening to you but you are seeing it in some detached, ethereal manner. She reached for his shoulders, moving him bodily, just a little. His head fell back as heavy as a rock, his eyes were rolled up into his head so far as to only make the whites visible, only the bare tip of the dark tawny, speckled green iris peeping down, a dark sun setting in a reversed world. It was a ghastly sight. "Logan!" The expression had much more genuine cry about it this time, her soul had come back to her body, her mind no longer shockingly disengaged. She shook him frantically by his shoulders but he remained catatonic, induced into some stupor he could not escape. Yes, time would heal any great hurt for him but it was startlingly clear that that was the one thing that could not be afforded. All the while she could feel him behind her...him; watching patiently, always waiting, the air of triumph about him without having to turn and observe it directly. She could simply sense it.

"Leave him Ororo," the thin but assured voice came as casual as normal conversation, "he will have his uses, but right now, he doesn't matter."

"You bastard!" she spat as she turned to Branloch, her concerned hands still upon Logan's prone body protectively, protectively as a mate. "Why have you done this to us?" The question was simplicity itself, as naïve almost dumb question; what did it matter now?

Branloch laughed in comprehension, everything, all the nuances, crossing her face like clouds changing by the second. "Oh my dear," he said, "do not see this as vindictive," he shook his head, the waxy luminous face creasing into what could be called a pious pity, "that is the last reason, the very last."

"Then why?" Ororo's voice quivered, her eyes pleading despite herself, feeling sick for having given into it, "Why?" She insisted upon her answer, not angry, moreover perplexed.

Branloch stepped forwards from the shadows, a neat tapping accompanying his measured movements, his hands clasped modestly behind his back as if in consideration, nearly a priestly countenance. And indeed, his facial expression assumed he was contemplating something of grave importance. He spoke deliberately, hesitantly to preserve that perceived modesty. Finally he deigned to answer. "I—I saw your...potential, Ororo. Do not mistake me, I'm not under the Hollywood influence of wishing you to be some 'Queen'," he spoke mockingly, seething quietly at the distasteful notion, "by my side, to rule as my lover—the idea is too ridiculous." He stunted an outright laugh at such a thing for that was the last thing for him to consider, in fact, being what he was, living, if one could call it that, the life he did, such a thing seemed preposterous, beyond immortal concerns. "No—but as a companion...as a companion, yes." His words were clear and sincere, no airs or graces, the word just right. "I have struggled for years now, tae find someone, somebody who was capable of receiving...the gift, of carrying it tae what it should be...who could continue the bloodline. I have experimented and come tae complete failure." He paused in his ambling pontificating, thinking of those very failures, unable, at the time, to understand why. He felt the need to explain this, "That is why you see my failures, those...things. You must see that I did'nae mean tae create them...but in you, in you I saw somebody who was worthy o' this immortal gift, somebody who could bring their own gift tae the bloodline as a companion...as a sister, if yae will. I have waited and waited Ororo, such a very long time," he came closer to her, feeling his reasoning was perfect and absolute, "yae can'nae imagine the centuries..." His demeanour spoke of loss, an irrevocably old hurt grudgingly brought to the surface, into the dim, heavy light. "I won't lie hen—immortality is not all it's cracked up tae be, but still, it has its perks, its advantages...will ya join me? Will ya join this family?"

Despite her instinct, Ororo, in her present circumstance, found it hard to invoke even the least semblance of sympathy; her near dead lover still under her hands, still ruddy in places and bleeding but not yet stirring, icy blue veins pushing up against the drained, porcelain, brittle skin like Delft earthenware. "Thanks," she intoned stonily, "but no thanks—I already have a family of my own."

Branloch did not seem indignant at this rebuke, simply expectant, but he knew instinct would override this, would implore her in some unknowable way. All reason and sentiment would fly out of the window. It would be the way of it and he felt a certain vague sympathy for his unwitting victim. No, victim, he felt, was not the correct or appropriate word. She should feel...blessed, blessed by this gift. Slowly he began to shake his head, "That is a shame Ororo...a deep, deep shame."

"I don't care," she fairly panted, her straggled hair falling into her face. All through his little speech she had felt it, felt it rising to different purposes; the subtle rumblings in the background, the sharp shift of the winds through the stiff leaves of the trees outdoors. It had all been building, like a symphony coming to a crashing crescendo; every instrument joining in at its allotted time but none being fully appreciated until the final moment came. The pattering of rain started, slow and broken at first until it burst into a full-on pelt; thumping heavily against the earth and everything else in its way. The wind solidly howled now, battering everything in its path. Her head fell, her body jerked with the force of a constant panting. She had never felt anything like it, a glorious confusion, a forcefulness and intention never before bestowed to her; she felt that if she wished, she could destroy the entire world whole, by force of will alone. All of her nature was employed in all its capacity; its destruction and its nourishment, the ultimate benefactor and distributor of life and death itself. She could do anything she wished, immortality was hers, just like the Umnabi tribe that had worshiped her as a Goddess made tangible flesh in their material pagan thoughts, long ago, had made her believe. She looked up at him, feeling her canines straining again; that Wisdom-tooth ache and a hot, hot burning in her eyes. She knew they were veiled, but also instinctively that it was not the usual white gauze, the spider-web mist. This time it felt more substantial and she was correct to feel the tangible change; her orbs swirled in pure, vibrant blood red, like pulsing clots; thick and deadly in their intensity, deadly with hate, pure antipathy. She had at last found an outlet for this new imposed nature, one she found, against the background of her innate morals as an X-Man, as a human being, albeit humanoid, entirely acceptable. It was almost written that—X-Men shall not kill—but what she had become, it was no longer Storm, the true Storm. Different rules were to be observed.

It was a fractured cry that hailed forth ripping automatically from Ororo's throat as she lunged at him, lashing out with an errant arm, the unnaturally accelerated growth of her finger nails taking a large chunk like cat's claws. It was an almost satisfying feeling, removing that chunk of flesh from his right cheek, almost as satisfying as his look of disbelief as he touched carefully at the spot of the infliction, held up against the window-sill, plump tissue, raw and exposed under his hesitant curious finger tips.

"Now, now Ororo," Branloch smirked at her, "there's no need for that."

The fresh blood still dripping from her hand, the unrestrained anger flowing like an ancient spring, she did not reply, she flew at him once more, the battle beginning in earnest. Branloch evaded this second blow, moving quickly and astutely but not the third; her claw like nails, thick and hardy, ripping into his side as he attempted to avoid her. But it seemed his mercy was not to last for long, his patience not infinite. It was most definitely finite as he struck a blow back; if this were to be the way of it, then so be it. He caught her left shoulder, ripping through the bare flesh as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. There was a brief gush, but nothing more, though the vibrant slashes remained with their deep crimson glow.

Ororo automatically clutched at the wound as she crashed back against a random post; a peel of thunder rumbling ominously, ominously and thickly enough to shake the old cottage to its very foundations. The first true bolt of lightening, struck one after the other, one split into many, forking into the ground around the small dwelling, leaving almost perfectly rounded patches of blackened scolded grass and earth in their wake. Looking down at her injured shoulder as she gingerly pulled her hand away, she was astonished to see the scarlet stripes almost sealed over with a crust of deep scab, as it should have been two or three days from now. But her amazement did not last long—she grew rapidly wise to the reality of her new situation. She took reign upon her existing attributes, determined to use them to their full if they were to help her avenge not just Logan, but to avenge herself—to strike down upon him for this indecorous state he had brought upon her.

Again the dwelling rocked as though it had been hit be an earthquake worthy of register on the Richter scale and the rain pelted the earth now, reducing it to a sodden swamp within a matter of seconds, overflowing the guttering, dripping through the hither-to un-noticeable gaps in the old thatching and warped floor boarding; the ensuing deluge was of such magnitude. She almost did not know what to use first, like a child spoilt at Christmas, Storm had an 'embarrassment of riches' at her disposal. But instead of wielding her powers she chose to wield her fists—knocking Branloch with such sub-normal strength that he smashed straight through one of the holding joists, sending down a torrent of water from above; droplets as hard as diamonds in unimaginable quantity. The endless sessions with Logan back in the danger room perfecting her one-on-one combat had there final pay-off.

Branloch shook his head, like a dog emerged from a river, reddened water shaking from him in every direction. And his face was set like a hound too; angry and coarse, demanding vengeance for his grievance. "If that's the way yae want tae play it, then so be it!" he snarled, all notion for a cursory humanity in his voice gone, a demonic, demonstrative force taking over.

Before she even knew what was happening Ororo felt the awful, painful crash of the free standing stair-case ploughing into her from behind; the unbelievable impact like a car-wreck. Everything seemed quiet for a moment, her breath frozen in her lungs, just the small tinkering of the falling wood that where formally the stairs but then it all came in like a stereo on zero brashly being turned up to one hundred; the storm, her storm, more violent than ever. She opened her eyes to find the monster leering over her, practically gnashing his teeth, the drool dripping like liquid lard; his over-developed canines straining, the fierce acid of the eyes like a cat at night, the nose, shrivelled and shrunken back like the puckered stub of a bat. The vision repulsed her, even more so at the thought of her imminent replication. To be destined for a fate as one of these creatures was truly a fate worse than death. That destiny shook Ororo from her forceful daze, but to her dismay that determination to avoid such a fate seemed to bring the monster out in her. She felt, along with the blood-fullness of her eyes, her whole physiognomy transforming; fury giving full reign to the newly fledged monster within.

Without thinking Ororo pounced forwards, her teeth gnashing with equal verve, dying to bite into the putrid flesh that hung before her. She felt her sharpened eye teeth nipping quickly through the softness of Branloch's right cheek, just a ruddy drop or two issuing from the small, insignificant wound down into her dismayingly eager mouth. But he had pulled away swiftly; whipping around with a knowing snarl as he now stood half a room away from her hunched and waiting; the facial wound disappearing before her very eyes. But that was nothing unusual by now. She pretty much knew the rules of the game.

"You will die for what you've done," Ororo rasped in a voice that was not quite her own, even to her ears. But she meant her solemn vow all the same—she no longer had anything left to lose...

With that the weather witch lunged forwards for a renewed assault and Branloch did the same, but she, the mutant, had an extra ace up her sleeve. Summoning a fierce wind she lifted him from the floor, smashing him straight through the low-slung ceiling. Wood and white plaster rained down along with the true rain as his slim form disappeared from view, but she did not wait for it to come back down. Instead she manipulated that same wind to take her through the hole she had created, zipping up like a lightening blot in reverse. She landed with a fair amount of grace; falling into a stride that led her straight to Branloch as he pushed himself up onto all fours, looking more the animal than ever. He never did get his chance to right himself as Ororo used the most rudimentary methods open to her, simply kicking him heartily in the ribs several times, shunting him along the floor of the master bedroom where they now found themselves. With one last mighty round-house, utilising her growing super-human strength, she sent him spinning back into the redundant fire place on the back wall.

But Branloch was only momentarily dazed. As quick as a flash he had advanced on Ororo as she tried to harness the random lightening strikes that marred the rough terrain into a deadly weapon but she did not concentrate swiftly enough, for the Laird had her by the throat as he fairly flew them both threw the air; the glass of the lead latticed window cracking against the force of her skull impacting on it. But she barely felt it, didn't even register the slowly leaking ooze that began to mat her ruffled hair at the crown of her scalp. Apparently he had given up any hope of her ever joining him, absolutely. She knew they were playing for keeps now, for sure. She just about had time to look up at him, a mere inch or so from her face before he threw her back across the room; her back snapping painfully backwards against the bed, making her utter a strained noise of anguish. Her breath exploded from her as she flopped forwards as if she'd just finished running a Marathon—twice over, the pressure on her chest, coming through from her back almost unbearable. It certainly gave Branloch a chance to gain on is advantage as he yanked Ororo from the floor where she had fallen helplessly onto all fours, by her tangled white locks this time, showing no mercy. He looked about ready to say something to her until the now unbearable racket of the storm outside become so much that it would have drown out any words of attempted reconciliation or threat anyway.

Thin rays of light began to rain down and he could almost feel the static in the air. It was as if the bedroom had become a depressurised zone, separate from the manic chaos that was transpiring outside. Amidst this sudden distraction, Branloch let go of Ororo, making her fall back to the floor in surprise at her sudden release. But this did not distract the weather witch from her current task and it all came into fruition exactly as she had envisioned. The mightiest bolt of lightening suddenly tore threw the already fragile thatched roof of the cottage, blasting away several pieces of furniture as it had a similar affect on Branloch's person, striking him almost directly on his head.

Ororo watched carefully as the vampire fell back though the already decimated flooring and back into the living room. But it took her a few moments to notice the falling red stars that glowed around her. She had only just become aware of these, cascading like angry fairies in every direction, coming down about her ears when she smelled the heady fumes of the smoke. Quickly her head snapped up and she saw the beginning of a raging fire, one that even her rains could not put out, not in an instant for she had no time to linger; Branloch was already stirring below. She looked up again briefly as the flames began to eat their way through the sturdy wooden joists of the ceiling and the darkened murky blue sky was visible good and proper from the massive hole the fire had now made. It was clear that the cottage was soon to burn down around their ears, but Ororo did not care...

"Logan?" she called quickly as she looked down and could not see him for he was not where she had left him. That fact gave her double the determination. If he was not where she had left him then surely he was still alive. A quick and rather rough wind took her through the ever widening hole that was now licked with fierce flames. As she landed the whole upper region of the cottage gave a horrendous groan followed by a series of ear splitting cracks. They were enough to distract her and give Branloch his chance to get back the upper hand, before it was too late...

"You fool!" he snarled as he back-handed her to the ground, seemingly appearing from nowhere. "Do yae not realise that if we don't get out o' here soon then we're both done fae?!"

"Great observation!" she shot back as the fire became even more ferocious and thick plumes of orange tinged opaque grey smoke began to fill the room.

"Not the fire!" he screamed back, incensed, "that can'nae dae anythin' you stupid girl!" For the first time Ororo could see the hint of fear in those hideous eyes, and then, as if on queue, the very thing he had become so alarmingly agitated about demonstrated itself. The first thing that hit her after the blinding flash and the scream of agony was the smell of burnt flesh, but not living flesh, rotting, decayed flesh—like a funereal pyre. It took Ororo a few moments more to realise that what had burned the side of Branloch's face so badly, sending him scuttling for cover in the nearest corner, was a bright shaft of sunlight. Having picked its why through the cotton cloud it had acted upon the monster in a way that the real flames springing up around them apparently could not. It didn't take Ororo much longer to realise the implications of this revelation for her self—the moment she was exposed to daylight as the cottage fell down around her ears, that would be the end...

Finally she looked up at him as he emerged from the smoke and shadows, determination in her eyes now more than ever. If they were both moments from death no matter what they did then she was certain that she would have the satisfaction of knowing she had taken him down first. The winds died down outside and the rain that had been nothing short of torrential began to ease. Thunder continued to crack intermittently but she was gathering up to something, it was clear to Branloch as he stood just feet away from her in some kind of stand-off; the intensity of blood-red locked with a gruesome sallow. The sallow flickered first, found its salvation in that small instant. Storm looked across; a wooden trapdoor placed in the flagstones, formerly hidden by the sofa that was now in bits somewhere else. There was a cellar. There in lay preservation. There in lay deliverance...

Not if Ororo Munroe could help it.

She seized upon her ultimate move, not really sure if it would work or not but determined to give it a shot. Her fist began to glow, bright white hot. Around it a ball formed, fuzzed and vaguely blue at its edges, an electric ball—a ball of lightening. He made his move, so did she...thrusting her fist forwards she met him halfway, ignoring the burning in her shoulder as a stray column of fresh sunlight struck it, a spike broke free of the balled lightening, forming a kind of dagger and she pushed it with all her might through the central area of his chest. He stood; shocked paralysed, his arms splayed out, his eyes monstrously wide as was his mouth. It had been a gut reaction on Ororo's part, even though the idea of resorting to myth even now, after everything, seemed absurd, the stake-through-the-heart seemed a reasonable thing to attempt. Although her stake was not quite as conventional as it could have been, it had stopped him in his tracks, but had not destroyed him as she had hoped. More sunlight came in as large chunks of the cottage came crashing down and the fire raged all around them. This was it, for them both...

"Need a hand darlin'?"

Ororo could not describe the feelings that flooded through her as she first heard his voice and then saw him appear from the now impossibly thick wall of smoke, coming out from behind Branloch. Against all odds she smiled, feeling her face melting back into a semblance that she knew was her, transformed from the unnatural monster she had become.

"Logan..."

He returned her smile but his attention quickly shifted as the resounding sound of his claws unleashing themselves seemed to make every other riot that was going on fade into the back ground. Hs face screwed up into an ugly anger as he came up right behind Branloch, swinging his arm far behind him and high into the air. It swung back down lightening fast, in a complete blur of movement. The still paralysed Branloch had no idea what had hit him. Ororo managed to register the growing sense of surprise and anger as his entire head left his shoulders, falling with a thud and bouncing out of sight at which point his body simply dissolved, joining the ash that filled the atmosphere, mingling with the smoke.

It was finished. Everything was...

The lightening dagger disappeared and Logan rushed forwards, pulling Ororo into a crushing embrace. It was as if they had forgotten where they were and in the process forgotten themselves. "Come on," he shouted as he finally forced himself to pull away from her and try to drag her towards where he thought the door would be. But se stood stock-still, resisting his efforts to move her.

When he looked back at her in utter confusion, she said, "There's no point."

"What d'you mean!" he shouted in garbled shock and anger—it was only a matter of seconds before the whole thing would engulf them...

"The sun!" Ororo bellowed on the verge of hysterical, wanting him at least to escape this mess alive. "I can't go into the sun!"

Logan glared at her for a moment but seemed to understand; taking on the unbelievable at a stroke. He suddenly turned from her, his head darting this way and that as if he where a bloodhound on the scent of that precious salty metallic liquid. He dashed into the thick plume only to return seconds later brandishing on of the dark thick curtains from the front window, more-or-less in tact, just sparking at the edges.

"I'm getting you out of here come hell or high water!" was the only thing he said as before she had time to protest he threw the material over her like an all-consuming robe and pulling her tight to him rushed them both into the harsh light of a new day...

Coughing ferociously as the ash, heat and fumes conspired to ravish his lungs Logan came to a thump on the cold hard ground that was sodden with the previous deluge just yards outside of the destroyed cottage. Still, he cradled the blanketed mass in his arms as if his life depended on it and in some distorted way, it did...

"Ororo...darlin'..." He called to her with uncharacteristic softness as he surveyed the inert lump covered by the blackened material. Its unanimated presence made him fear the worse. He dared not pull it back for fear of what he would see there. Instead he called again... "Ororo...?"

The blanket twitched. However minutely so, he noticed it.

"Ororo?" he fairly whispered, some of the earlier trepidation lifting. After a moment or so she stirred again, the movement much more pronounced this time and therefore undeniable. A soft moan issued from beneath the ragged and musty thick cloth as unidentifiable lumps began to ripple beneath it, rising slowly from the ground.

"Logan?"

"I'm here darlin'," he replied with a palpable relief, reaching down tentatively to help her into what he presumed was a kneeling position. Once she seemed settled in this shift his hands lingered about the drape, toying with removing it.

As if sensing Logan's dilemma Ororo told him, with a more than nervous yet somehow defiant air, "Take it off..." she paused, involuntarily holding her breath, "...please...."

Their was an exaggerated 'whoosh' and the brilliance of a new dawns sun flooded everything, bright in rhapsody...

~The Epilogue~


	9. Chapter 9

Okay, this is the final instalment, no reviews thus far...your comments would be greatly appreciated...for good or ill!!! Hope you enjoyed all the same! M'iko xx

Darkness Falls: The Epilogue

Bright as the most polished jewel the solar orb sat heavy in the sky, wrapped with the ribbons of a fresh summer's dawn and the finest gaze; the sun was awoken from its habitual slumber and shinning in all its glory. Pink, orange and gold banners ran through the baby blue of the highland's open range, gambolling between the soft sheets of new-born white cotton clouds. The first kindling of a warming fire on nature's canvass was off-set by the dying plumes that rose thick and opaque into its serene presence; a smudge of dark ink knocked clumsily into still waters, dispersing at its own leisure.

All about, everything continued as normal, as if nothing could disturb the onward march of another day, another turning of the planets in their perpetual dance. The birds rose and fell in an enamelled sky, eddying on the wind's majesty whilst echoing their enchanting song across acres of plush mountainous countryside. The trees rustled, whispering to one another in their own conspiratorial syntax, dark and light, soft and hard; they did not let their meaning on to anyone else, they kept their own council through centuries; a language all of their own. Meanwhile, the dead trees below burned. The timber ruts and beams that had stood for half a millennia crumbled in the heat, succumbing to the flames ravishing licks and their insistent nibbles until they were nothing but smouldering black heaps. They fell and decayed like life sped up, withering down into the black and white of ash and settling in sunken pits, defeated; fossils before their time. The wreckage was the final act of a story that had raged and ravaged the lives of centuries without remorse... but at last, finally...it was finished...

*

...I can't feel anything just now. There is an abyss where my body should be, my mind is a free floating thing, detached from everything. I could be flying, I could be raised upon a current that is taking me over the Serengeti, the Rocky mountains or some wide vista or ocean I can not name. I could be doing any one of these things—I am free from feeling, from thought, from worry. I know nothing but the free-fall that could be endless. And I do not care...

...I feel the weight in my arms, a welcome weight. But right now, I'm not sure why. Everything fell into a blank, a covering of darkness from which I wasn't sure I wanted to emerge. But right now I'm not sure why...why...

...I feel a rock, a solid surface that I lean against, that enfolds me confidently with a grip that will never let go. It is warm, it fills me with an indecipherable hope and I do not know where it comes from. For I still feel incorporeal, my body is elsewhere, it is with the elements, it has become one with them. But I feel this rock steady form beside me, around me, and I am safe. I can see. I can see within the minds eye and I know if I can only muster the strength I will see. I will see, if I can only focus on my corporeality, I will see. I focus. My body comes back; my eyes, my skin, my bones, my blood, my being but most of all the writhing of the elements. It is all coming back to me...the world around. I can smell the acrid smoke but above that is the air, fresh and free. I want to focus, if only I could open my eyes...

...She is here. Her warmth is here. It's wrapped in my arms; her body warm against me. The vanilla and sandalwood mixing with a simple, natural harmony fills me to the brim. The soft whips of her hair brush and tickle against my face and I'm whole. She is here and I've got her, I have her and I won't let her go. The beating of her heart fills my ears, it vibrates against my body; the rhythm of her life. The softness of her skin is tangible to me even through the charred remains of her clothes and I long to explore her body to confirm that this isn't a trick of the mind, a fooling of my senses. But she stirs and it's confirmed. She stirs in my arms as I'm slumped here on the gravel outside the ruins of the cottage and slowly out of the mass of vanilla scented and soot streaked snowy strands, she turns her face to me as I open my eyes; as beautiful as ever, marked with grazes and the black smudges of the soot, but as beautiful as ever. Her infinitely warm doe-eyes are tinged with a red around the edges but they still shine with her vitality; a vitality and determination that defies everything. She looks at me and parts her lips, full and aching to speak...

... "Logan...?"...

...I breathe the word, coming into myself at last. I breathe the word and I am here, I am with him. His strong sure arms are around me...my love. I am here and I will not let go...ever... I will not let go...

*

"It's finished...it's over..." Logan breathed delicately, his voice at last coming back to him, sounding foreign in his keen ears.

Ororo smiled up at him, her grip on his body tightening in her relief at the end of this nightmare. The air around them began to clear; the lingering after affect of the storm that had quenched the fire dissipating as a new born wind wound pleasantly about them.

"I know," she replied quietly closing her eyes with faint exhaustion as the soft pressure of his lips bared down on hers.

*

The distant rumble of a car cut through the gently crackling silence. The last of the flames were burning themselves out, no food to fuel their perpetual hunger was left; it had finished. Ororo and Logan held each other as the full glory of the new days sun subtlety spread itself upon the vicinity. The unexpected storm had broken and the heaviness of cumuli had fallen away. Dampness remained on the ground, helping to scupper what few sparks of life remained in the now smoking, smouldering heap. But the rest of nature was bathed in a stark coolness; the green leaves dripping, spry and light as the grasses of the hills, glistening as if sprinkled with their usual dew. Though there was no light so bright as that which came from the two embracing figures. The dawn chorus sang and a new day began.

~Fin~


End file.
